


Streets of Chicago

by TheNorthRemembers



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Emotional Support, Established Friendship, Friends to Lovers, HIV/AIDS, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Oral Sex, Panic, a sort of optimistic take on what might happen if an active NHL player was diagnosed with HIV, consent is important, dealing with bad news, talk of/mentioned homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 04:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 79,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16906140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNorthRemembers/pseuds/TheNorthRemembers
Summary: Patrick is 29 years old when he finds out he is HIV positive.Patrick is 29 years old when he realizes that despite giving up everything for hockey, he still might lose it over one stupid mistake, one careless, reckless night.Patrick is 30 years old when he starts to learn to believe that sometimes your world ends and the sun still rises again. Maybe even with someone by your side.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Big Fic Energy challenge. I wrote it within two weeks in August, which is why events of the season are entirely made up. Q isn't getting fired, Schmaltzy is still on the team, you get it. Also I optimsitically decided to write the Hawks as doing not horrible, which- Well. I hope you enjoy the fic anyway.
> 
> Side note: If you only read the first chapter, you might think I'm spreading false information about HIV. I am not. Patrick is uneducatedand has many false beliefs and prejudices. He will get educated on those. I know that HIV, if treated, is no longer a death sentence, and that HIV positive people can, in fact, can have sex without risking transmission etc. Just keep reading, it will all be explained, and put right.
> 
> Also: link to art and a playlist by [OldLace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16906263)  
> !!

Patrick’s world ends on a Friday.

It’s Friday, the 12th of October. It’s the morning after their game against the Minnesota Wild that had ended in a close 3-2 win, with the Hawks managing to tie it up and get ahead within the last quarter of the third period.

Patrick hadn’t scored but he had racked up two assists, which he might have been pissy about ten years ago, having wanted those goals for himself and his own record, but that is something you grow out of. Patrick certainly has. He’s still a damn good goal scorer and he knows it, but it’s undeniable that he’s no longer at the level he was at in his early twenties. Not everyone can be Ovechkin, that doesn’t mean though that Patrick can’t still kick major ass on the ice. He is still a play maker and he intends to be so for a long time yet. He may no longer be the guy for record breaking goal-scoring every season or unmatched point streaks, but if Patrick thought those were the only things that make up a winning team, then he would have never made it as far in his career as he did. They’ve got new guys for that now , young guns, eager, fast, and so full of energy, hungry for everything, every point, every cheer, every little bit of this life they dreamed of since they were little kids.

Kids with the same enthusiasm in every glide of their skates on the ice, that Patrick still feels whenever he steps out into the rink. He still feels a little bit like a kid himself then, remembering how nervous and excited he’d been back then, and how much of it has turned into routine, routine that Patrick loves more than anything. If his body will let him, Patrick will pull a fucking Jagr and play till he’s fifty.

He doesn’t want to get there on his own though. He doesn’t just want to cement his legacy, and his career into gold, or rather silver, he wants to do it for the Hawks too, and the new, young guys are part of that. They are hungry for wins, and Patrick’s job to get them there, to help them along, to set them up and offer them guidance whenever he can. It’s an ongoing joke in the locker room that Patrick is wearing an invisible A on his jersey, with how much he cares for the rookies, but Patrick is secretly glad that it’s that, if anything. Invisible. He loves it, loves his job the way it is, and whether or not there’s a letter on his chest, the rookies are part of this job.

Once upon a time Patrick had been the future of this organization, he and Jonny, taking on more than everyone thought they could carry, tasked with the impossible goal of bringing this franchise back from the dead. Now, they are older, more concerned with building something that can last than reaching for everything now, now, now. They did that, they got it. They had now, made it theirs, owned it. Patrick wants it to be about tomorrow now, about shaking off the disappointing 2017/2018 season and the 2017 playoff debacle. Now it’s about tomorrow, about the next ten years and proving that the Hawks are more than a few lucky draft picks that got them three cups but then nothing else, except an embarrassing sweep and missing the playoffs altogether. Patrick wants _more_. He wants to fight, to grind, to give it his all. And he is so fucking ready for it. He’s poured his life and soul into hockey, has shed blood and sweat and tears. He’s given up so much and he doesn’t regret a single second of it.

Most of the time. Sometimes, there’s a tiny part of him that wishes it didn’t have to be like this. He has watched countless of teammates fall in love, marry, and have children over the years, joking every time someone asked him that hockey was his one true love. It is, but while it’s a team sport, it has also made Patrick lonely.

Not that he’d ever admit to that. He loves his guys, all of them, even the ones he doesn’t really know yet. The team has changed a lot over the decade that Patrick has been a part of it, and the last two years had been particularly tough. Duncs and Seabs are still around, despite bad seasons and trade rumors and so is Crow after his injury. And Jonny. Thank god for Jonny. Patrick doesn’t think he could do any of this, even now, without Jonny.

But they’ve had to say goodbye to a lot of guys. They’ve lost Hammer what feels like ages ago, they lost Hossa, Hartzy, Vinnie, Scotty, and so many more. Patrick still misses Temi, and he knows that while Jonny is glad that Saader is back he also feels guilty because everyone knows they got him for Jonny, to give him someone he had chemistry with in hopes of resparking his fire. Not that Jonny hasn’t been good, but it’s tough. It’s tough getting older, and Jonny is the Captain, he’s the one who had to step in front of the media after each and every loss during their disastrous last season, and it’s taken a toll on him.

They hadn’t spent the off-season together but they’d talked on the phone a couple of times, even face timed, and during one of those times Jonny had told him. He’d told him about all his doubts, about how he’s been reading on Twitter and Reddit and Deadspin (really, Jonny? Follow your own advice) and that sometimes he thinks those people are right, that he’s overpaid, that he hasn’t been worth his money since 2012 and that the team would have a better shot if Jonny’s contract and spot on the first line weren’t things they had to navigate around.

It’s bullshit of course, which is what Patrick had told Jonny in no uncertain words, because Jonny is a thick skulled Canadian eco freak who needs things hammered home with a good old fashioned shouting match sometimes. Yeah, Jonny might not rack up points like he did in his first seasons but he’s been in a steady ascend when it comes to other skills. His leadership has only gotten better over the years, and that’s something assholes on the internet and the media don’t seem to understand, how important that is, how good Jonny is at caring for other people, at building them back up.

Patrick is watching Jonny wrap an arm around Brinksy, probably mumbling something encouraging about the penalty Brinksy took in the second that had led to the Wild pulling ahead of them, when his phone rings with a number he doesn’t recognize.

They are at the airport, waiting to board their plane back to Chicago and the only calls Patrick would expect are from his sisters, maybe, or his dad, or- Or someone he knows. Not some unknown number.

_+45_ it starts with, causing Patrick to frown because while sometimes reporters or other media personnel get a hold of his number, they almost always have American numbers, starting with a _+1._ _45_ isn’t American, he’s pretty sure, so... Europe? Asia? Fucking Australia? Patrick actually has no idea, which country has the code 45 at the start of their phone numbers so once his phone has stopped buzzing and the first of his teammates have started walking the tarmac to the plane, Patrick types the numbers into google. It’s probably some sort of scam, he guesses. Except that just as google spits out the answer ‘Denmark’, his phone buzzes again. This time with a text.

_8:02 [From: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_Hi Patrick it’s Aksel._

_Call me back it’s urgent_

Aksel.

Denmark.

Fuck.

Patrick’s stomach plummets and he throws a quick involuntary glance around.

Objectively he knows that no one could fucking know by just looking at Patrick with his phone in hand that he just got a text from a guy he hooked up with in some sleazy Copenhagen motel almost five months ago, but he feels like it’s written on his forehead in big scarlet letters.

He definitely hadn’t given the guy his number, at least he doesn’t think so, and if the guy hadn’t said his name in the text, Patrick might not have remembered it. ‘Might’, who is he kidding. He wouldn’t have. It had been sex, just sex, nothing more because that’s all Patrick can allow himself. It had been Patrick taking advantage of being thousands of miles, an entire continent away from home, where hooking up with a guy, someone he’s actually attracted to, would be pretty much impossible or rather far too fucking risky.

The thing that gets him, is that Patrick had been careful.

He hadn’t told Aksel his full name, he had even lied about his job, said something about a sales convention, and in truth, they hadn’t really talked all that much. Patrick had been buzzing with the urge to make use of this little offshore vacation and Aksel- Patrick doesn’t actually know. Aksel had liked Patrick’s biceps and broad chest and that had been enough. Frantic making out in a cab had led to frantic making out against a motel room door and then the most satisfying sex Patrick had had in a year.

He doesn’t hook up during the season as a rule. He probably could try during their west coast road trips but it’s just too risky and as much as Patrick loves a good orgasm and sometimes aches for a hand on his dick that isn’t his own, he loves hockey more and he wouldn’t risk it for anything. If that means only ever getting satisfying sex during the offseason, on short vacations where no one knows his name, then so be it. Patrick has made his peace with that a long time ago, when hungry kisses and rushed hand jobs in hotel showers, followed by shouting matches on the bench had made him realize that girls just weren’t for him.

It’s not nice and sometimes Patrick’s chest aches with loneliness when he watches Seabs wrap his arms around his wife or hear Schmaltzy talk excitedly about spending the weekend with his girlfriend, but it is what it is. Patrick has made his choice a long time ago.

It had been easier when he’d been young, when hooking up had been what everyone did, when starting a family and settling down had seemed far away. It had been easy then to lock away the longing for stability for someone to stick around, to crawl into bed with at night and have breakfast with the next morning. At almost thirty, it’s not as easy anymore.

Swallowing thickly Patrick follows Murphy and Rutta onto the plane, typing a quick _‘I don’t know how you got this number, but I’m not interested. Sorry.’_ as soon as he’s seated.

Whatever the guy wants, Patrick doesn’t have the time for it, and even if he had, Aksel was a good lay but Patrick isn’t interested in a repeat. He’s interested in getting this season off to a good start, to keep it up and prove to himself and the world that they still have it in them. Seeing Aksel again is not part of that plan.

He puts his phone into flight modus and pops his headphones in, just as Hayden plops down in the seat next to him and they spend the next one and a half hours in comfortable silence. Patrick doesn’t think of Aksel again. He doesn’t even think off switching his phone modus back, just pulls up game tape from last Saturday’s game against St. Louis on his IPAD, making mental notes of what they have to improve on for tomorrow’s home game against the Blues. One sample isn’t much to go by but they’ll meet St. Louis often enough and Patrick doesn’t want anything to slip by him. This season has to be good. They can’t allow themselves another 2017/2018. It’s just not an option, they all know it.

When he finally switches his phone back to normal use as he waits for his bag to be unloaded there are three more text messages from Aksel and one missed call.

 

_8:30 [From: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_Asshole it’s not about fucking. Just call me it’s very important_

_8:36 [From: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_Dude I don’t want to do this through text cmon_

_8:52 Missed call +45 XX XX XX XX X_

_9:25 [From: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_Do you have any idea how much texting you costs??? Call me back_

 

Furrowing his brows Patrick scowls at his phone. He has no fucking clue what is going on but apparently Aksel _really_ wants to talk to him, enough so to take on international call and text fees, which Patrick hadn’t even thought about if he’s being honest. So it must be important, and not just because Aksel said so. Patrick can’t for the life of him think of _what_ could prompt this months old hook up to bombard him with texts out of nowhere. If Aksel was a chick Patrick would be freaking out about a possible pregnancy right now but as it is, he’s just confused and mildly annoyed.

“Hey, you good?”

Patrick looks up, slightly startled finding Jonny –his own bag in hand- frowning at him.

Patrick gives a shrug, gesturing to his phone. “Yeah, just some bullshit texts. Lindsey picking you up?”

Jonny makes a grunting noise that’s neither here nor there which Patrick guesses means either yes or that Jonny doesn’t know, which probably isn’t a good sign.

Patrick knows that Lindsey and Jonny had a bit of a rocky offseason although Jonny –true to form- hasn’t disclosed much details. Just something about her hinting on wanting more (whatever the fuck that means, marriage probably) and Jonny valiantly ignoring those hints to the best of his abilities.

Patrick doesn’t think Jonny wants to marry Lindsey, and maybe that’s a problem between them, but at least he’s got someone. Patrick can’t help but be jealous of that.

“I’m just gonna-” Patrick gestures to his phone. “I can give you a ride after, if you want to.”

“Thanks, man,” Jonny says, clapping Patrick on the back and stepping away, presumably to give Patrick some privacy for his phone call like the polite freak he is. Or can be. During their time sharing a hotel room Jonny had sometimes refused to leave when he’d stubbornly wanted to finish his yoga routine or his favorite fishing show was on. Not that Patrick had been any better. Back then he would have sworn tooth and nail to everyone who’d listen that Jonny was the worst roommate ever. Now, he almost misses it sometimes. And not just because of the hand jobs.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles, selecting Aksel’s number and pressing call. He has no idea what time it is in Denmark (probably some time in the afternoon) but Aksel asked for his call so whatever time it is, it must be fine.

“ _Finally_ ,” is the first thing that gets snapped at Patrick as soon as the call connecting ring cuts off, and Patrick is half inclined to just hang up, because fuck this guy anyway. Patrick is doing what he asked. They hooked up once, Aksel can’t expect Patrick to be at his beck and call. That’s not how it works.

“Yeah,” he says tightly, rolling his eyes at Jonny who’s leaning against a pillar a few feet away, arms crossed. “ _Finally._ What do you want? What’s so fucking important?”

“Oh, piss off, I’m doing you a damn favor by calling,” Aksel hisses, a subtle accent bending his words, and Patrick doesn’t know him well enough to figure out if that weird undertone in his voice comes from that or if there really _is_ something. Regardless, there’s something in Aksel’s words, that has him straighten, fingers tensing. “Remember Copenhagen?”

“Of course I remember Copenhagen,” Patrick says, increasingly irritated. “Get to the point, I just got off a plane.”

There’s a second of silence from the other side, then: “We didn’t use protection.”

Patrick snorts, shaking his head. He doesn’t remember that detail, but he knows he topped and since he’s clean- “Yeah, so? If you’re gonna tell me that you’re pregnant, I’ve got a couple of questions.”

“God, you are such an asshole,” Aksel responds, sounding snappy again. “I’m not pregnant, I’m HIV positive so you should probably get tested. Have a good day.”

Patrick blinks, his throat drying up within a second. He doesn’t have time to say anything, not even to let the words sink in or even start to process before the call-end beeping is ringing through his ears, loud and harsh and piercing.

_HIV._

A part of him is ridiculously convinced he misheard, got tangled up in Aksel’s accent. The rest is just ringing with the word.

_HIV._

_Positve._

_HIV postive._

“I-” Patrick says weakly, phone still pressed to his ear.

_HIV_.

He feels like someone has poured ice water over his head, every inch of his body going taut, muscles tensing and air getting stuck in his seized up lungs. Every ounce of warmth has left his body, cold clam fingers twisting his stomach.

_HIV._

The phone is still beeping in his ear. Jonny is still frowning at him from his position against the pillar. Schmaltzy is still chatting with Dylan by the benches. The world is still turning and Patrick just-

Patrick can’t breathe. He can’t fucking get any air into his lungs. He can’t do anything, he can’t- He can barely get his thumb to swipe over the call end tab, although that tasks seems monumental compared to his mind’s feeble attempts at processing what Aksel just told him, what it means.

They hooked up in Copenhagen. They had sex. Unprotected sex. Patrick fucked Aksel without a condom and now, months later Aksel is telling him that he’s got HIV.

_H-I-fucking-V_.

HIV.

HIV. Patrick doesn’t even know what the letters stand for. All he knows is that the V means Virus and that HIV means AIDS and AIDS means-

“Hey, buddy, you sure you okay?”

Patrick doesn’t even look up at the sound of Jonny’s voice just blankly stares at the phone in his hand as nausea rises up his throat, his hands so cold and sweaty. He thinks he might drop his phone.

“Patrick? What’s going on?” Jonny asks, more urgently now and suddenly there’s a hand on Patrick’s shoulder and-

Patrick throws up. Right there on the airport tiles, right over his Saint Laurent dress shoes, the ringing in his ears drowning out whatever else Jonny says. There’s only one word in Patrick’s mind, clear, with sharp cut edges.

_HIV._

Fuck.

 

***

 

Jonny ends up being the one to do the driving home. He drives them to Patrick’s condo and then takes a cab to his place after Patrick has mustered up some lie about experimenting with his breakfast order, which makes Jonny frown because Jonny knows Patrick loves his usual order, not being much for variety, but it’s enough to get him off Patrick’s case. As soon as the door has fallen shut Patrick is back on his bathroom floor, throwing up the rest of his breakfast as his mind keeps racing around those three damn letters. It’s just three letters but they’ve hit Patrick like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and weak in the knees, the taste of vomit in his mouth.

He’s had sex with someone who has HIV. He- He has kissed that someone, has touched them, he has fucked them, he-

He doesn’t appear any different when he looks into the mirror. Patrick stares at the reflection of his pale face, the redness of his eyes, the dryness of his lips. He looks like any other day after he threw up from too much booze or when he’s had that food poisoning. He doesn’t look- He looks like someone who threw up, a little pale maybe, but not- He looks sick, but doesn’t look _sick_. But neither had Aksel, at least not how Patrick remembers him. Then again, he’d been drunk and it’s all a bit of a blur, so maybe-

But maybe not. Maybe Aksel hadn’t been sick yet. Maybe he’d gotten it sometime after his and Patrick’s hook up, maybe he just-

_When did you get it?_ Patrick types out on his phone, maybe an hour or two later, sitting in his bathtub with a six pack of some fancy European beer he got gifted by Hossa who had just laughed when Patrick had declared his American pride would never allow him to drink it.

But hadn’t thought he’d ever have to freak out about possibly having contracted a deadly disease either. He had figured he’d be careful, that he’d just insist on a condom the handful of times he bottomed and then it’d be fine. He doesn’t feel fine now, but that’s because of Aksel. This morning he had felt fine, he had felt as good as ever, happy about their win, eyes already on the next game, he’d been good. That he’s feeling like his fluttery heart is going to burst out of his chest now, is all just Aksel’s fault. It doesn’t fucking mean anything.

He takes a shaky sip from the open bottle in his hand before typing out another message.

_13:44 [To: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_Did you know when we fucked?_

He takes another sip, or means to, but his hand is shaking so much, some of it pours down his chin and neck, wetting the collar of his shirt.

_13:45 [To: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_did you fuckng know u were sikc???_

Then, because he’s getting steadily more drunk and more panicked with every second that Aksel doesn’t answer his first question, Patrick adds another text. And another:

_13:48 [To: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_if u knew and didn tell I’m gonna sue you out of everything u own_

 

_14:13[To: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_When did u get it pls??? Tell me_

 

It takes another hour or so, Patrick isn’t sure how much time passes exactly, for Aksel to answer. He’s just fumbling off the lid of his fourth (or is it the fifth? The sixth?) bottle when his phone buzzes where it has slipped between his thigh and the tub wall, creating a god awful sound that startles Patrick into almost dropping the bottle and chipping his nail at the lid. It takes more time and concentration out of Patrick than he’s ready to admit, to balance the open bottle on the edge of his tub so it doesn’t spill while he scrambles for his phone. There had been a time where this little alcohol wouldn’t get him wasted like this in this amount of time but he’d been pretty much abstinent for years now and apparently age doesn’t help.

He manages to unlock his phone on the second try but all Aksel’s text reads is _‘You really are a fucking asshole aren’t you?’_ causing Patrick to let out a half growl half sob as he tries to blink away the tears. He’s a fucking idiot, of course he is, if Aksel had gotten it _after_ having sex with Patrick, then he wouldn’t have reached out to Patrick, would he? Because then there wouldn’t be any risk for Patrick, it’s as simple as that, but he did, which means-

_15:56 [From: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_For the record YOU could have given it to me. How often do you get tested?_

Patrick stares at the screen, the words swimming a little before his eyes before he chugs almost half the bottle in one go, typing out an angry reply that he hopes is at least somewhat decipherable. Because fuck that guy. Fucking fuck him and what he’s implying. Patrick doesn’t sleep around. He’s slept with maybe three guys the entire last year year, and this- this year it had only been- And-

_15:59 [To: +45 XX XX XX XX X]_

_fucjk u I get rtested regzurarly’_

 

-and he’s got several health check-ups per season, on top of the big one before training camp. They test for STDs there because yeah, some hockey players sleep around and some are idiots but Patrick never had anything, his tests always came back negative, he doesn’t even have the Herpes thing and he _knows_ guys who do. So-

So if they catch Herpes, Syphilis, Gonorrhea, Chlamydia and what not in these tests, they’d catch HIV too, right? It just makes sense. You don’t just test for one STD, you test for all of them. It just makes _fucking_ sense, not that the bottle Patrick tells this to cares, so he chugs another gulp of it, picking his phone back up to type ‘AIDS’ into the google search bar. He must have clicked ‘images’ accidently before though because suddenly the screen is full of some scientific pictures of spiky reddish balls that he guesses are supposed to represent the virus, and red ribbons, and Freddy Mercury, and-

And reddish-blackish lesions on pale skin that make Patrick drop his phone somewhere between his knees and sink down further into the tub until he’s lying down all the way, beer bottles clanking where they are gathered by his feet.

Patrick doesn’t think he’s ever _really_ looked at his bathroom ceiling before.

It’s white. It’s just plain white with some undoubtedly expensive round lights led into it. They have a gold brim, matching the armatures. Right now Patrick can’t for the life of him remember if they came with the place or if his mom has picked them.

Somehow he has to fight the sudden urge to throw his beer bottle at the ceiling.

He hasn’t fucking picked this, he always- He always meant to really decorate and design his home once he had someone to share it with, to make it a _home_ , so now he’s almost thirty fucking years old living in a condo his mom and some interior designer made liveable for him and it makes him so angry it’s almost laughable.

Patrick is still busy glaring at his ceiling when his phone buzzes with another text from Aksel. All it reads is ‘ _Sure’_ , then before Patrick can even start to formulate a response in his alcohol steeped brain there’s another text.

“Whatever, just get tested,” Patrick reads out loud, almost dropping his phone on his face twice.

He doesn’t need to get fucking tested though, he realizes. He doesn’t. It’s all fucking bullshit. He just had a major check-up this summer before training camp and the thing with Aksel, that was before, after Worlds in May. So he’s fine. Patrick is fucking fine and he feels so damn ridiculous for having freaked out like this. Thank god, no one witnessed it. Well except the guys at the airport but they don’t know. They don’t even know that Patrick sleeps with guys, that he’s gay. Well, except Jonny. Jonny definitely knows the sleeping with guys part. Because Jonny does too, sleep with guys that is. Or rather- Guy. Jonny sleeps- slept with guy. With Patrick. And not guy Lindsey. Good boy Jonny.

Patrick bets Jonny never had to freak out about HIV.

“Fuck you, Aksel,” he says out loud, pulling himself back up into a position that might somewhat resemble sitting, so he can fish for a bottle that actually still has beer in it. “ ‘m fine. So fucking fine.” He gets interrupted by a hiccup and a weird uncontrollable giggle before he manages to get a grip on a bottle. It’s empty though, just like the next he gets a hold of.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” he repeats, louder this time, but he barely hears himself over the sound of glass shattering against tiles. He threw the bottle. Oh.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles weakly, struggling to get a grip on the edge of the tub. It’s a bit of an ordeal, first getting his leg over then pushing himself up so he’s pretty much belly down on the edge, one knee out and one knee in and then getting down on the other side without potentially breaking every bone in his body but he manages. The world spins for a rude amount of time, ignoring Patrick’s mental requests for it to stop.

A bathroom rug would be nice, he thinks distantly, staring at the damn ceiling again, it’d be nicer to lie on, nicer than the hard, cold tiles. Maybe he should buy one, maybe he should just- Just go on fucking Ebay or whatever. Just buy a damn rug because he wants one and not ask his mom if they match the dumb golden brimmed lights because Patrick hates those fucking lights, he hates them and he hates Aksel and-

“Fuck,” Patrick curses. He’d been picking up the shattered glass from the bottle he threw and suddenly there’s a sharp stinging pain and when he looks down there’s red dripping on the white tiles between his knees.

It’s coming from the side of his index finger, and it’s not even much. It’s just blood. Patrick has seen others and himself bleed enough times over the course of his career to know that he doesn’t mind blood. It’s not a big deal, he doesn’t get dizzy from seeing it, the sight doesn’t make him nauseous, he doesn’t mind. He-

Except that now he’s staring at the cut in his finger, at the red on the floor and he feels sick to his stomach. If he had- If Aksel had- If- this would-

It’s Patrick’s blood and it’d be- It’d be fucking contagious. It’d be carrying this deadly, horrible disease and it’s- It’s inside of Patrick, it’s running through his veins, pumped by his heart and it might-

“I’m fine,” Patrick gasps out, squeezing his eyes shut, blocking out the sight of his blood. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Tumbling back to the tub he fishes out a full bottle of beer on the first try. He chugs half of it in one go. Then everything goes black.

 

***

 

The game against the Blues goes nothing short of abysmal for Patrick.

He’s unconcentrated and jittery. He can’t seem to keep hold of the puck, practically giving it up the second an opposing player appears in somewhat close proximity to him. It’s awful. Every shift has Patrick hang his head a little lower, has him scoot away a little farther from the others on the bench, and not just so he won’t feel their eyes on him and hear their murmuring as much.

It’s just- It’s not just his hangover, although that definitely doesn’t help ( _We aren’t twenty anymore, Peeks,_ Jonny would say if he wasn’t so busy scowling at the scoreboard). It’s that Patrick feels sick to his stomach every time someone gets close to him. He’s so- He’s so scared. He feels like a traitor, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, like a- Like a virus. He feels like a virus in disguise among them and they don’t know. He has the puck and Maroon goes in for a steal and Patrick just lets him because Maroon doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that Patrick might be-

“What the fuck is going on with you?” Jonny hisses at him during the second intermission.

They are down 1-4 and all four Blues goals have Patrick’s name written all over them. At least that’s what it feels like to Patrick, and judging by the look on Jonny’s face, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, gritting his teeth as he eyes the massage tables. Usually he’d get his legs kneaded there right now and he can feel his muscles aching for it, but- But. He looks down at his hands, avoiding Jonny’s dark, accusing eyes. “I’m fucking trying, alright? I’m giving my best.”

“Are you though?” Jonny snaps, arms crossed, and usually, usually this is what Patrick loves about Jonny, being direct and to the point and not sugarcoating things for Patrick.

They’ve always been honest with each other, whether the public had been praising them to the heavens or beating one of them down to the point of teary frustration. Patrick can always trust in Jonny telling him the truth. When he’d started to believe that the Hawks would be better off without him after Madison, that his skill wasn’t enough to make up for his inability to cope, when he’d let the press about his ‘scoring drought’ during the 2015 playoffs got a little too close to him.

Always. And Patrick has always returned the favor, has always been honest with Jonny. Had yelled at him when he’d been too far in his own head, when he’d compared himself too much to offensive forwards instead of defensive ones like him, when he’d taken all the jokes about him never being healthy and never scoring more than twenty goals a season a little too much to heart. When he’d been a fucking idiot about his head.

They’ve always trusted each other, and always appreciated each other’s honesty but right now Patrick can’t stand it. All he wants is for Jonny to step the fuck away and worry about someone else, because Patrick doesn’t need it.

That’s what it is after all, worry. Someone who doesn’t know Jonny, might not be able to tell but Patrick has been best friends with this emotionally inept nature freak for over a decade, and he  _knows_  him. He knows that the crease between Jonny’s brows paired with the line by the corner of his mouth means that Jonny isn’t as much pissed as he’s worried. Although he’s definitely a little pissed too. Patrick wouldn’t expect anything less after all.

“Yeah, I am,” Patrick forces out, running a hand through his hair. It’s slick with sweat, sticking to his scalp and his hand comes back sticky as it always does when he’s working out, but- But Patrick stares at it, and- Sweat. Is it like blood? With the virus? Could it- He swallows, thinking back to all the times he’s felt another guy’s sweat on his own skin when celebrating a goals, when horsing around in the locker room, when hugging. What if-

He had googled it this morning after waking up with a massive hangover and a mess to clean up that is still there waiting for him tonight. Not the sweat thing, although he probably should, but the STD testing. He’d googled if a standard STD test includes an HIV test and the results had been mixed. Some listed it some didn’t. One website said that the patient’s explicit consent was needed to test for HIV, another talked about an ‘opt-out’-option, saying that unless the patient asks for it to be excluded HIV will be tested for. But the patient needs to be asked.

Patrick doesn’t remember ever being asked, not to opt out and not for the test to be included, leaving him with only one option: asking Dr. Terry. He had meant to do it before the game, get it over with, but he hadn’t. He had changed into his gear, he had kept his head down, had headed to warm up and then during first intermission, he had just been too busy beating himself up over that give away that had led to the 1-2 in the dying seconds of the first. Now Jonny is in his face and there’s no way for Patrick to slip away to talk to their doctor without at least Jonny noticing.

Not that that would be the worst thing about this whole shit show. It’s a cheap excuse and Patrick is at least somewhat aware of that, but he just- He can’t. He feels cold sweat break out all over his body at the simple thought of walking up to Dr. Terry and speaking the word ‘HIV’ out loud, not just tasting it in his mouth. He doesn’t think he’s said it out loud since Aksel first told him, he isn’t sure if he can. He has to but if he does, if he asks then- There’s only one explanation for Patrick asking about this and Dr. Terry isn’t an idiot, he’d get it and then he’d know.

He’d know that Patrick is gay, that he hasn’t been careful, that he might- That he might have it. That he’s scared out of his fucking mind, so much that he had to fight the urge to stop at a liquor store before the game, wanting nothing more to drink himself back into oblivion. He hadn’t but it had been a close call.

He’s been cutting back on alcohol ever since 2015, ever since the accusations. He knows he didn’t do what they say he did, but the night is also really fucking blurry and Patrick swore to himself to never let that happen again, never drink so much again. It had only been six beers last night, and some peach schnapps around midnight, but it had been enough to leave him puking half the night, to give him a hammering headache now and screw up his game even more than the fear of those three letters already has.

Q was right to yell at him on the bench, just like Jonny’s worried anger is justified now. Patrick deserves it, but it still hits him hard. He feels brittle and off balance and when he sees Q stomping towards him out of the corner of his eye he honest to god has to blink away some tears.

Two days ago he was fine, he was thinking about the pressure of the new season, the shadow of the last, of what they could do to improve, of where there weaknesses were. Now, now he’s a fucking mess, waterworks ready at the prospect of having drawn his coach’s anger, like he’s fucking twelve, not a grown ass adult in the NHL.

“Kaner,” Q starts but Patrick is already shaking his head.

“I know,” he says, biting his lip, looking down at his jittery hands, the band aid around his index finger. “You don’t have to-” He swallows, glancing up at Q. “I know.”

Q crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t. I don’t know what is going on with you, but you aren’t yourself out there, and Jon-” He nods towards Jonny whose face suddenly flushes in a way that doesn’t purely speak of physical extortion. Patrick squints at him. “Jon mentioned that you were feeling sick after the flight yesterday. Did you get checked out by Dr. Terry?”

“I thought-” He starts, eyes flickering from Jonny to Q. “I thought it was just the hotel breakfast, but maybe I was wrong.”

“Then get checked,” Q says, arms still crossed. “I’ve had my fair share of players ignoring their health. It’s one thing if you still bring it, another if you don’t. Or it used to. Now? You feel sick, you talk to the doc. No discussion.”

“Yes, sir,” Patrick says, still a bit weakly, but grateful for Jonny unknowingly spreading his lie, getting Patrick off the hook like this.

Q just rolls his eyes. “Don’t get cute with me. Talk to Michael then report back to me. I need you at a 100%.”

“Got it, Coach, thanks,” Patrick says, pushing himself up and swatting Jonny’s offered hand away. “I’m not an invalid, it’s just-” The possibility of having an incurable, deadly disease. “-just a stomach bug or something.”

 

***

 

Patrick is grateful for getting off the hook for his shitty game even though he feels guilty as hell at the same time, but it takes away any excuses of not talking to Dr. Terry. He’s here now, face to face with the guy, trying to muster up the courage to open up his mouth for more than just a torch light being shone in and some polite greetings.

Dr. Terry does the routine check-ups, skipping the temperature taking because, as he points out, Patrick is still in game mode, they’ll have to wait a while until he’s cooled down enough to get an accurate reading. Patrick nods numbly to everything, mostly just glad that he’s not getting any instruments, like a thermometer, shoved into any body openings. It’s the same as with his sweat, his blood, it’s just- Dr. Terry is wearing gloves, thankfully, but it still freaks Patrick out and he knows Dr. Terry can tell by the way he eyes Patrick as he puts a stethoscope to his chest and takes his blood pressure, that something is up.

“How are you feeling, Kaner?” he asks eventually, scribbling down something on his notepad while Patrick sits there in his gear, dangling his legs awkwardly. “Better or worse than when the game started? You’ve mentioned that you already threw up once yesterday. Continuous nausea?”

Patrick shrugs, not trusting his voice for a moment.

“I did, yeah,” he admits, after clearing his throat twice. “And it’s not- I’m just feeling a bit- Off. Like I’m coming down with something.”

“And it’s bad enough that it’s affecting your game?”

Patrick’s cheeks flush, but he nods. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“Mhm,” Dr. Terry nods, rolling over to his computer to click around for a few moments before meeting Patrick’s eyes again. “At your training camp physical you’ve had mildly elevated inflammation values, and you’ve mentioned you’ve had a bit of a summer flu during the offseason with lingering fatigue as well as occasional night sweats. Do you think your body might still be struggling with that?”

Patrick blinks. He’d pretty much forgotten about that. He had felt fine by the time to convention ha rolled around, only the occasional issue. It had reminded him of mono or something, nothing worth thinking about because it had passed. It had taken longer than the usual flu but Patrick has been feeling fine for weeks now. No. Months. Except some fatigue and the occasional rash that he’s pretty sure is due to his new detergent. And this now, this is not-

Fuck, he feels guilty. Dr. Terry is trying to help him figure this out while Patrick knows damn well that it’s just his own head fucking him up, just panic, just his head being unable to handle something, like it had back when he’d gotten those panic attacks after Jonny had drove his car into a bridge and everything had just gotten a little bit much. For all the stress and pressure he has endured in his life, it appears that Patrick’s mind is a really fragile thing.

Exhaling deeply, he shakes his head. “No, I’ve been feeling fine. This is just- It’s sudden. I’m sure I’ll be peachy after a bit of rest. Don’t worry, doc.”

“It’s my job to worry, Kaner,” Dr. Terry says with an amused quirk to his mouth. “And it’s your job to take care of your body. If you want another ten seasons, you have got to listen to it.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says with a nod. “Of course, I’m-” He laughs weakly. “You know me, I’m a wimp.”

God, he’s such a coward. A wimp  _and_ a coward. He could ask, he should- He should. He should ask, he should just ask. Just ask about the damn test now so Dr. Terry can tell him that yes, they in fact do test for HIV, and all will be fine, Patrick will feel peachy fucking instantly. He just has to ask and he’ll be back on the ice in no time, actually doing his fucking job. He just has to-

“Kaner?”

“Yeah?” Patrick croaks, eyes snapping up. “What did- Did you say something? Sorry.”

“I was asking if something else is the matter?” Dr. Terry repeats, tone calm and collected, eyes searching. “Something you want to talk about?”

“I-” Patrick stares at him, throat suddenly incredibly dry. This is it, this is his opening, his invitation to come out with it, and yet there are no words he’s able to say. His tongue feels big and clumsy in his mouth and all he can do is helplessly stare at Dr. Terry until he eventually just shakes his head, breaking eye contact to stare at his own hands.

“No, doc,” he gets out, exhaling abruptly. “No, I’m good. Really. Just feeling a little under the weather.”

He can feel Dr. Terry’s eyes on him, but he keeps his head down, lips pressed together, hoping that Dr. Terry will just back off. And why wouldn’t he? He’s got nothing to go on, just Patrick being a bit of a mess but that has happened before.

“That’d be all then,” Dr. Terry says after another beat of silence, his keyboard clattering. “I suggest you sit out the third period and get some rest but it’s up to you. If you don’t feel any better by Tuesday, come see me again, alright?”

“You got it, doc,” Patrick says, swallowing down the shame in his throat as he gets up to shake Dr. Terry’s hand before waddling back into the deserted locker room.

Great, he has already missed the beginning of the period. With a slump he sits down in front of his stall, letting his head drop into his hands. Q asked him to report back to him but it’s probably for the best that he’s in here and not out on the ice. Two periods as a liability were more than enough and Patrick knows himself well enough after all these years to be sure that him getting his shit together during the next twenty minutes isn’t that likely to happen. So with his head bowed and his pride wounded Patrick quickly strips out of his gear, briefly debating whether or not take a shower here at the rink or at home where there’s still a number of beer bottles littered around in his bathroom. In the end he opts for the locker room showers that are as familiar -if not more- than the ones at his place anyway.

He showers as quickly as his still weak knees allow and if his watch is to believed, he’s out and in his car before the ten minute mark of the third period has been crossed.

_It’s fine,_  he tells himself all the way back to his condo, knuckles aching from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s fine, he’s fine. They tested for HIV during his physical, they must have, and they didn’t say anything, they told him he was as fit as he could be so it’s fine. There’s no reason to worry, there’s no reason to freak out. If he had it, they would have told him.

So why can’t he seem to stop shaking? So why does he stop at some 24 hours store on the way back and buys a bottle of tequila? So why does he ignore his dad’s call, undoubtedly wanting to know why he’s missing the third period? Why does he spent another night drinking and puking because that’s easier than thinking?

It doesn’t matter. The why doesn’t matter. He’s fine. Patrick is fine. He just is.

 

***

 

Patrick isn’t fine.

He’s spiraling. He goes home and works through his bottle of Tequila, ignoring any messages that he gets. He drinks in the kitchen instead of the bathroom now, not wanting to think of the blood he still hasn’t cleaned up. It had just been a few drops and it’s probably all dried up and crusty by now but Patrick just feels sick at the thought of touching it. His own blood. Fucking ridiculous. Just like how many things suddenly seem to make him feel sick. It’s like he’s suddenly lost every ability to handle absolutely anything. Thank god they have a four day break without any games.

 

***

 

Morning skate is optional the Sunday after the Blues games, so Patrick doesn’t go. He curls up in his far too big bed on satin sheets he bought when he was 24 and thought they were ‘ballers’, feeling utterly miserable. It’s a familiar kind of misery though and yeah, maybe Patrick uses it to overtone the underlying fear that has worked his way into his bones, and maybe it isn’t the most healthy of coping mechanism but fuck, there isn’t exactly a handbook for this kind of situation. No one ever told Patrick what you are supposed to do when an ex-hook-up calls you, telling you to get tested, because you might have AIDS. Or HIV, or- Patrick doesn’t even know how that works, he just knows that HIV is AIDS, sort of, and that it kills people. It’s what his uncle called god’s punishment for being a fag when Patrick was little and overheard his mom and uncle talking.

It’s not something Patrick Kane is supposed to have. He’s an athlete, he’s healthy, he’s known to love the ladies, at least according to the media. Patrick Kane isn’t supposed to have an HIV scare. A pregnancy scare, sure, but even when Patrick had still tried it with girls, he’d always used a condom, too many talks and lessons stuck in his head about not wanting to knock anybody up. His dad had always told him that he was free to do whatever he wanted but he better believe that if there was a baby in nine months, he’d be taking care of it. No ifs and buts. So Patrick had been careful when it had come to girls, but dudes… There was no risk of getting someone pregnant by fucking them in the ass, so Patrick had just- He’d thought-

He thinks about googling it, if you can contract something through anal if you are on the giving end but he doesn’t. He stares at the white and empty search bar for what feels like forever before slamming the screen of his laptop shut and screaming into his pillow instead.

He eventually texts his dad that he has the flu (a lie he used on the boys too), ignoring the text that comes back asking since when that is a reason not to play. It makes Patrick hide his face in shame because his father is right, usually Patrick would push through, he’d play or at least try to. As long as you don’t feel like you are actively dying you try to play. This time it’s different though, this time, with Patrick not even having the flu, he can’t bring himself to ‘man up’ to do what he knows he should.

Still, he gets his shit together enough to drag his ass to the next mandatory practice where Jonny asks him quietly if he’s feeling better. Patrick nods, ducking out of a hug by pretending to having to tie his skate laces again. He doesn’t feel better, and he’s sure it’s written all over his face, but Jonny doesn’t call him out on it, just tells him it’s good to have him back and that’s that. Because Patrick is fine.

Except that Patrick can’t sleep. Except that he still hasn’t cleaned his bathroom. Except that he still hasn’t asked Dr. Terry about the testing, or opened google again after his last aborted attempt of getting more informed about this thing. He knows he’s being stupid but a part of him is convinced that if he actually went ahead and did some research it would make this real, it would be him admitting to the possibility of having- Having this thing. So he doesn’t.

 

***

 

“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Jonny comments when he shoulders his way past Patrick, Tupperware with three Blu-Rays balanced on top in hand. It’s Wednesday and Wednesday means movie night, unless there’s a game that night or a too early flight the next day. It’s been a tradition he and Jonny have kept going on and off over the past six or seven years and usually Patrick really looks forward to it but this week he hadn’t even noticed that it was already Wednesday. Jonny showing up at his doorstep has completely caught Patrick off guard and he’s still a bit dumbfounded when Jonny hands him the Tupperware and Blu-Rays so he can toe off his shoes and hang up his jacket.

It’s not that Patrick doesn’t enjoy Jonny’s company. Usually, of course he does with Jonny being his best and closest friend, but he hasn’t expected him, and Patrick has yet to manage feeling like a full person again, not a shattered mess, taped together at the edges. He can’t- He barely manages to act normal at practice, he doesn’t think he can pull the entire ‘I’m fine’ act off at home with an audience.

“Says you,” Patrick chirps back weakly, patting after Jonny into the kitchen where Jonny proudly presents him with the Tupperware, as if Patrick hadn’t been carrying it for like three minutes now.

Jonny just rolls his eyes. They both know Jonny has struggled with insomnia before and still does sometimes but he’s been handling it quite well recently.

Patrick guiltily wonders if he could pull the sick card to get out of movie night. He could, but-

“I made you Chicken Soup,” Jonny says, nodding to the box. “I figured we could go for this instead of takeout this week, since you’ve been sick and all.”

“That’s-” Patrick clears his throat, eyeing the soup container. It must have been hell to balance that all the way over to Patrick’s place without any leakage. “That’s very… uh, motherly of you, Jonathan. I’d call you a mother hen but-” He manages a grin. “That might be offensive,  _eh?_ ”

“The only thing that’s offensive is your Canadian accent,” Jonny snorts, shaking his head fondly.

“My Canadian accent is fucking great,” Patrick argues, just because, as he’s taking a peek at the Blu Rays Jonny brought. Jonny has only been here for five minutes maybe but Patrick is already reconsidering, maybe Jonny and movies will be a good distraction.  _If_  Jonny brought good movies that is.

_Bon Cop Bad Cop_ one of the titles reads and while the cover looks fairly cool Patrick still scrunches up his nose at the French in the title. Jonny can call him a hick all he wants, Patrick just isn’t too much into needing subtitles for his movie experience. He watches movies to relax, not to kick his brain into working mode. The next one is _Wonder Woman_ which Patrick greatly enjoyed when he saw it with his sisters the summer it came out. The last one is called _Get Out_ , which Patrick has already seen as well (maybe even mentioned in an interview, if he remembers correctly). It’s good, but not exactly low brain cell investment and Patrick always feels bad when Jonny brings over movies Patrick can’t give the appreciation (or make fun of) they (and Jonny) deserve.

“Which do you want to watch?” Jonny asks predictably, attention focused on pouring the soup into two bowls. “And I hope you’ve got bread because I didn’t bring any.”

“Gluten freak,” Patrick mumbles, sighing as he eyes the movies. “Which do  _you_  want?”

Jonny throws him an amused glance, putting the first bowl into Patrick’s microwave. “I’m fine with all of them. That’s why I brought them.”

“Fine, Wonder Woman then?” Patrick suggests, holding up the Blu-Ray case. If he wasn’t gay, he’d totally have the hots for Gal Gadot. As it is, Chris Pine is more his jam. He wonders who Jonny would prefer.

Jonny –the fucking asshole- pulls a face. “You don’t want to watch ‘Bon Cop Bad Cop’?”

Patrick wants to kick him. “Do  _you_  want to watch ‘Bon Cop Bad Cop’?”

“It’s your turn to pick,” Jonny insists like he didn’t just pretty much admit to wanting to watch the Cop movie.

“God, fine, I pick the bonbon cop then, you happy?” Patrick says, picking the movie case off the counter and striding off into the living room, leaving Jonny to his soup warming and weird decision making.

It’s so stupid, Jonny does this every time when it’s his turn to bring movies. He says he’s fine with any but when Patrick picks and his choice doesn’t just so happen to land on what Jonny is secretly rooting for, he’s trying to get Patrick to change his pick. Usually Patrick takes him up on the challenge and sometimes they spent an entire hour arguing, both of them lobbying for their movie choice until Jonny gives in eventually, but tonight Patrick doesn’t have it in him. He just starts up his entertainment system and busies himself with kicking a couple of empty beer cans far enough under his couch table so Jonny hopefully won’t see them.

“I found your bread,” Jonny announces, a soft crease between his brows as he steps into the room with what is presumably Patrick’s soup bowl on a tablet along with some Ciabatta bread, because Jonny, the attentive motherfucker, knows that Patrick loves to dip bread into it when he eats soup.

“Gold Star for Jonny,” Patrick says with a small smile, taking the tablet from Jonny, who just gives him a tiny frown before disappearing back into the kitchen, probably to warm up his own soup.

After about half a minute of mental debating, Patrick decides to sit down on the loveseat instead of the couch like he usually would, trying not to think too much about  _why_  that seems like the right option, especially not when Jonny returns with his bowl of soup and halts in his tracks for a few long, long seconds when he finds Patrick astray from his usual movie night spot.

A week ago they sat on this couch together, Patrick’s feet in Jonny’s lap, and Elle Woods kicking academical ass on Patrick’s TV screen.

“What, are you contagious or something?” Jonny asks after a few uncomfortable beats of silence, quirking an eyebrow at Patrick.

Patrick’s stomach plummets. “I-”

“Because you already showed back up to practices so I’d say, if you want to protect me from your germs, that ship has sailed,” Jonny continues, finally moving to sit down on Patrick’s massive couch. It’s a great couch but sometimes Patrick still misses that first sectional he had owned, the one Jonny had had the twin off. Boring and generic as fuck, but Patrick had chosen it himself, and so had Jonny.

It’s easier to think about the couch, instead of Jonny’s joke. That’s what it is after all, but it still hits Patrick like a slap shot to the gut.

“Don’t tell me you are feeling sick,” Patrick counters in a weak attempt of faking banter, his heart beating in his throat.

Jonny waves him off. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”

“You also talk like my grandpa,” Patrick mumbles, causing Jonny to bark out a laugh. They both know Patrick loved his grandpa.

 

***

 

The movie does have subtitles and while Patrick’s first instinct is to complain to Jonny about it, along with mocking all the outrageous Canadian-ness, Patrick doesn’t find it in him to say much of anything. He just slurps his soup, munches on the bread and tries to focus on the movie as much as he can. It is pretty funny, if you take away the inconvenience that is subtitles but Patrick will admit that all dubbed in English, the movie simply wouldn’t work so subtitles are probably a good option for monolinguists like Patrick. It’s hard to follow though, because Patrick’s sleep deprived brain just doesn’t have the capacity to really get into it and pay attention to a point where he’ll be able to follow the quick witted humor and switching back and forth between languages.

It’s just nice not to be alone, to hear Jonny occasionally chuckle and shift on the couch that Patrick would love to share with him right now. It’s nice to have some sort of background buzzing that lets Patrick’s head feel empty but not achingly so, his lids getting heavier and heavier by the second.

The movie is on pause when Patrick startles awake, showing some sort of ice rink and for a second Patrick has no idea what woke him. He just blinks at the bright screen until Jonny clearing his throat draws his eyes to the doorway.

Jonny is standing there, three empty bottles (five beer, one clear) in each hand, jaw tight and expression grim.

Patrick has to take one look at his face to know that was woke him was Jonny calling his name.

A wave of shame washes over Patrick, as he sits up in his seat, straightening enough to not feel like a child being scolded more than necessary. It’s still bad though. It’s bad because Jonny has found the evidence of Patrick’s in-home bender that had been scattered all over Patrick’s bathroom. Which Patrick hadn’t clean up yet, because his blood on the floor had triggered waves of panic in his chest and he’d just-

“You’ve had a party I wasn’t invited to?” Jonny asks coolly, raising his hand a little, bottles clanking against each other.

Patrick swallows, sucking his lip in between his teeth.

Jonny nods curtly, eyeing the bottles for a second before walking over to the kitchen counter and putting them down one by one before turning back around to face Patrick, arms crossed.

“So let me get this straight,” he says, his Captain voice just a little off-beat, the way it gets whenever Jonny is faced with Patrick’s bullshit specifically. “You throw up after out flight on Thursday, tell me it’s the flu. Then on Saturday you play the way I did when I was concussed, and leave _early_ after I told Q that you might have the flu. And then, when I and everyone else thought you were sick at home, you get fucking wasted?” He stares at Patrick incredulously, calm façade dropping more and more with each word. “Was it the flu on Thursday or were you fucking hungover, Pat? Did I lie to our coach for you? Because you fucking know I’d do that for you if you asked but I’d like a fucking reason first. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“I wasn’t hungover,” Patrick protests weakly, but he knows the evidence and his history speak against him, even though he’s been keeping it together the past two years.

“Okay,” Jonny says quietly, and god, he’s going to make a good dad one day with how he’s got the whole not mad but disappointed look down. “So you were feeling sick and then decided to get wasted?” He eyes Patrick tiredly. “In your bathroom?”

What is Patrick supposed to say to that? It’s spot on, it’s what happened. Patrick did feel sick and then he got drunk in his bathtub. It doesn’t matter why, it’s what happened and he knows Jonny can see the answer to his question written all over his face.

“Fucking hell, Pat,” Jonny mutters, running a hand over his face. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Patrick bites out, pressing his lips into a thin line. He really wishes Jonny would stop asking that. “Nothing’s going on.”

“So this is normal?” Jonny asks, raising his eyebrows at the parade of bottles. “Me finding your bathroom looking like a garbage can with broken shards and fucking blood on the floor is normal? Because if this is normal, I’d really fucking like to know, so I can mentally prepare my statement for the press the next time you-”

“Oh, fuck you, Jonny!” Patrick snaps, feeling tears already sting in his eyes. He’s emotionally as stable as a fucking Jenga tower 30 minutes into the game, and it’s so fucking unfair. Jonny is being unfair. Patrick got drunk, yeah, but not in public at some college frat party. He did it at home. No one but Jonny even knows about it. It’s not like 2012 or the Cabbie, or-

“No, fuck _you_ , Patrick,” Jonny says, dark eyes glaring. “Do me at least a favor and don’t play with sharp objects while wasted again, alright? I don’t want to show up next week and have to clean up more than a few drops. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

There’s worry in Jonny’s tone again, or rather, it’s seeping through stronger now, more audible to Patrick’s ears but it’s quickly drowned out by the split second falling of Patrick’s stomach into his knees, his face draining of all color.

Jonny cleaned up his blood.

Jonny didn’t just go and pick up the empty bottles and broken shards, he-

A few drops. Clean up more than a few drops.

He cleaned up the blood.

Patrick’s blood.

_Oh god._

“You-” Patrick chokes out, half trying to not sound freaked out, half not able to care, because Jonny- “You cleaned my- My bathroom?”

“Not all of it,” Jonny snaps, visibly irritated. “I’m not your maid. Just the disgusting ass dried blood drops. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Well, I mind!” Patrick yells, getting to his feet and hurrying past Jonny to his bathroom, to do what, he doesn’t know. He halts in the doorway, staring at the white, bloodstain-less tiles, his heart beating in his throat.

“What-” Jonny starts, apparently having followed Patrick. “I don’t- I don’t get it. Are you _mad_ at me?”

All anger and disappointment has drained out of Jonny’s face, replaced by blank and utter confusion.

“You can’t just do that and mess with my shit,” Patrick snaps, staring at Jonny helplessly. God, Jonny doesn’t know what he’s done, what danger he might- He’s not, because Patrick is fine. He’s fine because they tested for the thing in the pre training camp physical, he’s sure, but still. Jonny could have-

“I didn’t mess-” Jonny starts, but Patrick cuts him off.

“It’s not fucking _okay,”_ he snaps. “You can’t just do whatever you want! You can’t just walk around someone’s condo and- And you can’t just- It’s unsanitary, would you clean my- My toilet too? What’s wrong with you, who does that?”

Jonny does that. He’s done it for Patrick before. After a lost bet and before that even when they were both trying to figure out how to properly clean a bathroom and Patrick had tricked him into doing all the work. And then, when Patrick had that stomach bug a couple of years ago and was too embarrassed to call the cleaning service. It’s-

Jonny’s his friend. Jonny is an amazing friend, who does amazing things for you in exchange for being his friend, and yet here Patrick is, yelling at him for it.

“Would you fucking relax?” Jonny says, no heat behind his words, just irritation and confusion. “You own gloves, it’s not like I used my toothbrush.”

Patrick blinks. “You used gloves?”

“Yeah, I used gloves.” Jonny throws up his hands. “You know I get rashes from some cleaning products. Why would I risk that?”

Patrick exhales, suddenly feeling very, very stupid. He sits down on the edge of his tub with a thud. “You used cleaning product?”

“ _Yeah_.” Jonny stares at him. “Your floor was sticky with beer and there was blood. I’m not gonna just rinse it off with water, what’s your fucking deal? Do you have a germ phobia I didn’t know about?”

Patrick almost laughs at that, but all that he manages is a weak, choked off chuckle. Jonny just stares at him.

_More like a me-phobia_ , he thinks, shaking his head at himself, at Jonny, the entire situation.

“I think maybe you should go home now,” Patrick tells Jonny eventually, not moving from his position on the edge of the bathroom tub. “We’ve got the Coyotes tomorrow.”

Jonny exhales audibly. “You’re kicking me out? Seriously?”

Patrick doesn’t say anything. After a few beats of silence Jonny nods.

“Alright. Let me know whenever you are ready to talk.” He throws a last glance over his shoulder before stepping out of the bathroom. “And try to keep it to non-hangover levels.”

“I will,” Patrick promises quietly, but he doesn’t think Jonny hears. There’s the sound of his steps, then some rustling and far too quickly Patrick’s door being slammed shut.

“I will,” Patrick repeats into the silence, as a promise to himself this time, as he lets his head drop into his hands.

 

***

 

They arrive in St. Louis a day early to spend the night at a hotel. It allows them to getting an early morning practice without having to rush to the airport right afterwards, as it would be if they scheduled the travel and arrival for game day itself. It takes away a bit from the stress, especially since they’ll have to get on a plane back to Chicago straight after the Blues game, to make it back for their first clash with Edmonton the following day.

Patrick knows he’s been doing a shit job at acting normal, not just in regards of the general weirdness he hasn’t been able to shake off since Aksel’s call, but also when it comes to Jonny, who’s been maddeningly  _not weird_  ever since Patrick hastily kicking him out during movie night. Except that the next Wednesday had come and passed without Jonny showing up. Neither him nor Jonny had acknowledged it the next day.

Apart from that though, Jonny has been so normal, so sweet and kind in his particular Jonny way. He hasn’t asked what was going on again, but Patrick knows the offer still stands. And a part of him wants to take Jonny up on it, wants to talk. It’s just that he can’t. He can’t because there’s nothing to tell and at the very thought of opening his mouth Patrick stomach turns.

It doesn’t help how sad Jonny looks every time Patrick evades a hug or shoulder bump or just contact in general.

It’s not just him though, that Patrick is avoiding, it’s everyone, so Patrick hopes that Jonny understands that the problem isn’t him, but Patrick himself. Patrick just can’t stand the idea of touching someone, of having them close to him, it’s not-

He can’t. He hasn’t even jerked off once since Aksel’s call, too disgusted with the thought. He’s only woken up with morning wood three times, his body probably aware of how not in the mood he is, and each time Patrick had forced himself under a cold shower, getting rid of the problem that way.

So it’s not Jonny, but Jonny doesn’t seem to get that, and Patrick can’t tell him. What he can do though, is get his shit together on the ice and by some miracle he mostly manages. He’s still shit scared of someone trying to check him or make any other sort of contact on the ice, but he’s spent eleven season being one of the smallest guys in the rink, having to evade bigger players, so it’s not much of an adjustment he has to make. It’s simply his head that has to get on board, that he has to get to focus and concentrate on the task at hand.

Getting some of his groove on the ice back doesn’t help with the off ice shit though, and Patrick finds himself lying through his teeth to his friends more than once, saying that he’s still feeling a bit off from the flu and that he’s not avoiding them, just needing rest. And if he makes eye contact once or twice with Jonny during those lies, hoping in vain that Jonny will jump in and back Patrick up, then no one has to know.

Jonny doesn’t talk about Patrick’s supposed flu again, but he doesn’t call him out on it either. Of course he doesn’t, that’s not how Jonny rolls. Jonny just clenches his jaw and watches Patrick, makes Bambi eyes at every dodged hug, compliments him for a good pass and throws his hands up at a missed one.

 

***

 

Patrick gets another text from Aksel on the morning of their flight to St. Louis and it knocks Patrick right off balance. He’d just gotten off a skype call with Jacquie and he’d been feeling good, sort of, but then he’s standing there, gym bag in hand, staring at his phone and it feels like being checked into the boards at full speed. Again.

_What did your test say_ , it reads and Patrick drops his bag to the floor with a thud.

Aksel is asking for Patrick’s test results. Two weeks of nothing and now he’s suddenly asking what Patrick’s test spit out. His HIV test. That he didn’t take, because- Because. Because he doesn’t need to. Because he’s already sure. Because they must have tested for it during the summer. Because Patrick is fine. He’s fine, he’s-

“I’m fine,” he says, gasps, trying to force air into his lungs. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m-”

_I’m fine_ , he types out before he can think about it, firing off the text before sitting down right where he stands, in the middle off his hallway.

_Oh good,_ Aksel texts back only a moment later. _Sorry to freak you out then._

Patrick actually laughs at that.

Yeah, right. Sorry. Sorry for what? Aksel better fucking be sorry. He better be. For causing Patrick to mess up his game, for costing Patrick night after night of badly needed sleep, for causing Patrick to fight with Jonny, for just- Fuck, for being there that night and hitting on Patrick. Patrick should have never fucking slept with him. He’s stopped enjoying sex with strangers a long time ago. The getting off is fun, sure, but Patrick just wants more, he wants more, so why does he kept doing it? Why did he do it then, in Copenhagen? It’s stupid, it’s not worth it, it’s-

Patrick is done with that, he decides right then and there on his hallway floor. He’s done with hooking up. He’s fine, but he’s still done. Not that he particularly feels like sex right now anyway, but even once- He’s done. He’s just done with it, with that part of his life.

It takes him another twenty minutes of sitting on the floor and staring at Aksel’s text before he can muster up enough strength to push himself to his feet again.

He means to go to the gym, he really does, he’d promised Hayden, and Schmaltzy, who’d asked him with eager eyes, saying that Jonny had agreed to come too and they’d go get Froyo after from this place Schmaltzy’s girlfriend found. But he doesn’t. Instead he drags himself into his own little work-out room where he spends half an hour pedaling away on the stationary bike before he remembers not to be a dick and texts Schmaltzy that something got in the way and he can’t make it. It gets him a poop emoji with a ‘ _< \- you’_ in return, which reminds Patrick of how Sharpy used to text him a lot. But Sharpy isn’t on the team anymore, he’s retired, and while he and Patrick still text, Sharpy is pretty busy catching up time with the family right now and Patrick respects that. Even if he still misses his friend.

***

 

Patrick keeps it together for almost the entire day. He switches his phone off, he works out at home, he eats, he tries to nap, he’s on time for their flight, he successfully avoids conversations with Jonny and the other guys. He just goes through the motions, goes where he’s supposed to, does what’s expected, and otherwise keeps to himself until they arrive at their usual hotel in St. Louis where the guys decide on having a team dinner.

Without meaning to, Patrick catches Jonny’s eye and while Jonny doesn’t say anything, he does raise an eyebrow, almost like a challenge, and while Patrick really, really would rather go up to his room and curl up in his bed, he guesses taking Jonny up on a challenge would be the normal thing to do, the thing he’d do if he was-

He  _is_  fine. So he goes. He puts his bag down in his room and resists the urge to crawl right into bed, instead forcing himself to go back downstairs to have dinner with his team. He feels guilty for how much it feels like a chore and for how uncomfortable he is at how close together they are all sitting. He’s squeezed in between Jonny and Murphy and usually he’d be more than fine with that seating arrangement, but- But.

He’s halfway to feeling somewhat less on edge when his food arrives and he remembers why exactly he ordered something that’s not only rich in carbs and protein but also gluten and dairy free. It’s salmon with brown rice and some coriander sauce like he always orders when they are in St. Louis because yeah, he likes his routine. He’s not as crazy about it as some guys but he likes what he likes and that’s fine. Most guys do it anyway. But now Patrick is sitting there with a plate of food that had looked delicious a heartbeat ago, but now makes his stomach turn.

His eyes flicker to Jonny whose busy taking his plate of zucchini noodles with pesto and chicken from the waitress and god, does the thought of Jonny taking some of his food kill his appetite, a cold shudder trickling down his spine. Fuck. He knows it shouldn’t be a big deal because usually Patrick likes it when Jonny steals his food -it gives him the opportunity to complain about it and point out how unfair it is because Patrick can’t steal shit back, with Jonny’s orders always being awful (they aren’t but that’s not the point). It feels like a big deal now, though, so Patrick grips his fork and knife tightly, beginning to shovel in his food as fast as he can so by the time Jonny usually starts his ‘picking off food of Patrick’s plate’- routine, it’ll be empty already.

It’s ridiculous, he knows, because it’s not like he’s spitting in his food or something. But he likes to mix the brown rice with the sauce using his fork and the fork he had in his mouth and just-

“Jesus, Kaner,” Seabs says with a laugh, gesturing at Patrick’s plate with his fork “Got somewhere to be after this?”

“Hot date?” Murphy chimes in, nudging Patrick with his elbow, oblivious to how it makes Patrick tense. “Got yourself a sweet St. Louis girl?”

“I don’t-” Patrick means to start, already shaking his head, but he’s got his mouth full with rice so what comes out barely resembles words, mostly just consisting of him spitting out a few grains of rice and just in general, doing a pretty bad job at acting casual. It’s made even worse when he somehow gets some food down the frown pipe in an attempt to answer quickly, causing himself to cough and Jonny, good guy Jonny, to slap him on the back to help him not choke.

“So…no St. Louis girl?” Seabs asks, pouring Patrick some water once Patrick’s coughing has subsided.

“No,” Patrick croaks, taking the glass and carefully taking a sip. “I just- I’m hungry.”

“It does look good,” Jonny comments quietly, nodding to Patrick’s plate.

Patrick swallows, carefully placing his arm between Jonny and his plate, a move that Jonny follows with silent dark eyes. “Yeah. It is.”

 

***

 

The evening doesn’t get any better and Patrick is glad when Jonny is the first one to call it a night because going first would have been weird, but a few minutes after Jonny, that’s fine. That’s not weird, so he does, making sure to wait long enough to minimize the risk of running into Jonny before he’s made it into his room.

Only once he’s heard the door click shut behind him, he breathes out, the tension that has built up over his hasty dinner easing up as much as it does these days, allowing him to go through the motions of getting ready for bed.

The connecting door stays closed the entire time and Patrick doesn’t catches any noises through the wall so he’s left wondering whether Jonny has already turned in, if he’s reading or doing his yoga. He might, although he usually waits a little while longer after dinner, because if they’ve learned one thing during their lives as athletes, it’s that physical exertion on a just filled stomach isn’t the best of ideas. Usually one of them would open the connecting door right about now and they’d hang out a bit, maybe together, maybe each in their own room but still in company. And Patrick wants to, now too, he does, but he’d made sure that the connecting door was locked when they arrived and unlocking it now, it’d feel like an invitation to talk, an invitation Patrick just isn’t ready to give.

He wouldn’t even know where to start, talking about this. He doesn’t want to talk about it at all, because there’s nothing really, and the last time they had a conversation that went beyond small talk and hockey, Jonny had asked Patrick more than once what was going on and Patrick hadn’t answered. There’s no way Jonny would just gloss over that again in a real one-on-one conversation. Still, Patrick misses talking to his best friend. He misses not feeling anxious around him, he misses not having Jonny look at him with that look in his eyes.

He misses getting hugged by Jonny too. Jonny gives great hugs and while they aren’t exactly overly cuddly for hockey bros they still have a lot of physical contact. A shoulder squeeze here, a butt slap there, a hug to say hello, to say goodbye, it’s what Patrick is used to, and when he gets too lonely during the season, Jonny has always had open arms for him. Not that Patrick has ever explicitly told Jonny about his loneliness but Jonny probably gets it anyway, at least on a subconscious level. As much as someone who’s been in a committed relationship for years can probably.

So instead of opening the door, Patrick switches on the TV, letting it run while he brushes his teeth, washes his face, combs his hair, and changes into his sleeping boxers and shirt, the low murmuring of some show giving him the illusion of company until he’s ready to crawl underneath the covers of the hotel bed and give himself over to the silence of the room.

But sleep won’t come.

Patrick tosses and turns for an hour before he gets up again to drink a glass of cool water, and crawling into bed again, to give it another try. Still, wakeful-ness can’t seem to let him go and while his lids feel heavy and he  _knows_  he has to get a good night’s sleep, it just doesn’t happen, he can’t. It’s some time around midnight that he gives up, switching the TV back on and putting it on the lowest volume level. The screen bathes the room in a soft, yet clearly artificial light, changing with each scene, sometimes more sometimes less.

It’s soothing at first, and it takes Patrick a couple of minutes before he understands just what film is being shown right now.

It’s a Tom Hanks movie and generally, Patrick likes the guy so he doesn’t think much of it, just keeps his eyes on the screen, hugging one pillow to his chest. Then the scene switches to a courtroom, where a woman is being interviewed. She’s blonde and meek and she’s got-

She’s got AIDS. Just like the Tom Hanks character does. Because it’s not one of the other hundred Tom Hanks movies, it’s ‘Philadelphia’ 1993.

He’s dying of it, Patrick understands now. And that’s what this whole trial is about. About Tom Hanks dying of AIDS and having been fired for having it, and-

And Patrick wants to switch the TV off. He wants to, he knows he should, but he doesn’t. He’s gripping the remote control with clammy fingers, unable to take his eyes off the screen where the lawyer has just asked the woman how she’s got it.

Through a transfusion, she tells them and the lawyer continues asking her to confirm that she’s got it through an unfortunate chance event and not through voluntary, reckless behavior out of her own choice. She confirms, tears in her eyes as the camera pans to Tom Hanks who looks down at his lap, shame and guilt visible in the slumped line of his shoulders.

_Voluntary, reckless, behavior. Out of his own choice._

Patrick has to close his eyes.

It’s AIDS. The movie is about AIDS. It’s not- HIV isn’t AIDS and Patrick doesn’t have that. He doesn’t have HIV, he can’t have it, he’s sure. Except that he isn’t sure at all because he’s spent the past two weeks repeating to himself and then Aksel that he’s fine, that he has to be because surely they tested him for HIV, so if he had it, he’d know, but he doesn’t  _know_  that they tested him. He never asked. He’d been too cowardly, too scared of a no, of what the question would imply, of what he’d admit to by asking it.

He should have asked. Fuck, he should have-

But he didn’t so now he’s awake at ass o’clock in the night, unable to turn off a movie about the discrimination against gay people, and people sick with AIDS especially. He should have asked and maybe he’d really be fine right now. He’d be sure, calm, he could watch this movie and just feel mildly uncomfortable about the discrimination and stigma of being gay that still hasn’t changed all that much over the years. Or better yet, he’d be asleep. He’d be asleep and tomorrow he could focus on nothing but the game, could open the connecting door and have breakfast on Jonny’s bed while Jonny tried his hardest to join the land of the living. He could be- He could be  _fine._

“Jonny?” Patrick whispers, voice as shaky as his hand when he knocks on the connecting door, TV finally turned off. “Jonny, are you awake?”

He’s unlocked the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to push it open, so now he’s standing there, hand on the doorknob in case Jonny tries to open it, whisper-shouting for his friend to wake up because Patrick just needs him. He needs to talk to someone, to him, he needs to get this out. It’s been two weeks that he’s spend burying this thing as deep down as he could but now it’s all there at the surface, pulling Patrick under and he just- He just needs his friend.

“Jonny, please,” Patrick says, louder this time, letting his forehead drop against the door with a thud. “Are you- I need to talk to you. Just-”

_Just wake up, please,_ he pleads silently, knocking again _. Just tell me that things are alright, tell me that we did get tested during the summer and that I’m not-_

“Jonny, wake up,” he gets out then, louder this time. “C’mon, wake up. Please.”

“Patrick?” he hears mutedly through the door, mumbled in Jonny’s gravelly-still-half-asleep voice, and fuck, Patrick almost sobs in relief at the sound of it, because Jonny is awake, he’s awake and he sounds soft and sweet and confused, and just so normal, so Jonny. The way he’s sounded for pretty much the last ten years. Nothing could be wrong when Jonny sounds like this.

“Jonny,” he repeats, gently tapping his fingers against the wood of the connecting door. “Jonny, I’m sorry, I- I need to talk to you.”

There’s some rustling and some distant muttering on the other side of the door that Patrick only hears because he’s got the side of his head pressed against the door and then suddenly, the doorknob in Patrick’s hand moves. Or it tries to move, Jonny tries to move it, but Patrick’s grip tightens instinctively causing Jonny to let out a confused noise.

“Wha-” He knocks, causing Patrick to wince and pull back his head. “What’s going on? Let me- In?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head, even though Jonny can’t see. “No, Jonny, like this, through the- Can we like this? Talk like this?”

He doesn’t think he can do this face to face. It’s yet another cowardly move, but he just can’t, and with someone else that might be the end of the conversation. Not with Jonny though. Jonny is an angel who gives a quiet, confused “Okay” that has Patrick exhale in relief, after a few moments of anxiously holding his breath.

“Sit down with me?” He asks against the door and again, Jonny gives him a quiet “Okay” followed by the soft thud of him presumably sitting down at the other side of the door, so Patrick follows quickly, sitting down on the hotel carpet, back against the door.

“What is this about, Pat?” Jonny asks after a few minutes of silence that Patrick spends just breathing, trying to get the words to actually come out.

Jonny already sounds marginally more awake now thought than he had a few minutes ago, the calming sleepiness of his voice replaced by clear cut worry that has Patrick wince internally. Of course Jonny is worried. He’s been worried for the last two weeks and all Patrick has done was cut him out.

“Did something happen?”

Patrick shakes his head, before he catches himself, because no, something did happen, but it’s dark and they aren’t even in the same room, so a quiet little “Yes” is all Patrick needs, to negate his non-verbal no.

“Yes,” he says, loud enough for Jonny to hear. He swallows, pressing his lips together tightly. “The call I made. At the airport…”

“What about it?”

Patrick closes his eyes, splaying his fingers on the carpet, chest hurting with how hard his heart is beating. “It was-” He breaks off clearing his throat. “It’s- I called-”

“Who did you call, Pat?” Jonny asks gently, voice soft but firm.

“Aksel,” Patrick says, exhaling slowly. “A guy I met in Denmark after World’s. He texted me so I- I called him back.”

Jonny is quiet for a few long seconds, long enough for Patrick to wonder if Jonny is going to ask who Aksel is to Patrick, if he’s a hook-up, or a boyfriend, or something else entirely but all Jonny asks is: “What did he text you for?”

Clearing his throat, Patrick rubs his sweaty palms over the carpet. He licks his lips, once, twice, his heartbeat so loud in his ears, he almost misses Jonny’s soft: “Patrick?”

“He’s HIV positive,” Patrick whispers, voice breaking over the last word as a tear rolls down his cheek. “He told me to get tested.”

He keeps it together for another breath, then it’s a full on sob that escapes his throat, making his cheeks flush in shame, eyes burning with tears that are finally falling, rolling down his face like the dam has finally broken, and maybe it has, because it doesn’t just stay one sob, there’s another that follows and soon Patrick is full on hiccupping, arms wrapped around himself while Jonny says something through the door, softly knocking, voice pleading and urgent and yet so, so kind that it kills Patrick a little.

“No,” Patrick says, because Jonny is asking for him to let him in. Again and again, even though there’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in Jonny’s arms.

“Pat, please,” Jonny pleads again. “Just let me come in.”

“No,” Patrick repeats, shaking his head uselessly.

“Pat-”

“No, Jonny, I can’t,” he cuts him off, trying to stifle a sob by clasping a hand over his mouth. “He’s positive, Jonny, he’s- I had sex with- And I-”

“Patrick, please,” Jonny says again like a broken record and this time the doorknob turns, causing Patrick to jump up and grab a hold of it with tear-wet fingers, keeping it from fully turning with every last ounce of strength he’s got left.

“Don’t you fucking understand?” He sobs, pressing his forehead against the door. “I might- I might have it, Jonny.” He almost chokes on the words, his stomach feeling like it’s turning inside out. “We didn’t use a condom, so I- I might-”

“You didn’t get tested yet?” Jonny says after a short pause, concern momentarily seemingly overwritten by surprise.

Patrick blinks. “No, I-”

“Fuck, Patrick,” Jonny cuts him off. “I thought this was you telling me that _you_ -”

“No,” Patrick says quickly, taking a step back from the door. “No, I haven’t- I don’t- I haven’t gotten tested.”

“But-” Jonny starts, sounding genuinely puzzled. “But that call was two weeks ago, Patrick. Why haven’t you-” He breaks off, the doorknob turning again and this time, Patrick lets it, too busy staring down at his bare feet in shame, tears still wetting his cheeks.

“I don’t know,” he admits, listening to the door softly being pushed closed again, and then, his ears rushing with blood waiting for Jonny to step into his space.

He does, but it’s slowly, carefully, and then it’s just a small little touch, just a hand placed on the nape of Patrick’s neck that makes him look up, meet Jonny’s dark, dark eyes. In lighting like this, they seem deep black.

“We get tested for it anyway,” Patrick whispers, looking down again, but not shaking Jonny’s hand off. “Right? The health check-up, before training camp. So it’s fine, I’m fine. We get tested there, right?”

Jonny is silent for a heartbeat too long, and Patrick’s heart sinks.

“We don’t?” he gets out, his voice barely there, even to his own ears.

“No, we don’t,” Jonny confirms, sounding heartbroken. “They don’t test us for HIV.”

Patrick grimaces, in vain trying to keep in another wave of tears. “Why not?” he sobs.

“I don’t know, Pat,” Jonny whispers, stepping closer. He sounds as helpless as Patrick feels. “I don’t know.”

He gives Patrick enough time, enough space, to back away, to evade him again, but Patrick doesn’t, so Jonny wraps his arms around Patrick, letting Patrick press his snot and tear covered face against his chest, wetting his shirt within moments. Patrick knows he shouldn’t, not when Patrick really might have- Have it. Not when the one thing he’s been holding onto, the one stupid belief he based his ‘I’m fine’ on, turned out to be nothing but a delusion, some naïve story he told himself to make things be okay.

Things aren’t though, apparently. They fucking aren’t.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, and Jonny only hums in response, squeezing Patrick even tighter, tight enough for him to feel a little less like he’s breaking apart more and more with each breath he takes.

 

***

 

“We’ll figure it out,” Jonny says at some point, quietly into the dark, lips moving against Patrick’s hair.

Patrick doesn’t know how long they stood there, wrapped up in each other, Patrick crying and Jonny holding him, but eventually they had migrated to Patrick’s bed, where they are lying now, tangled up under the covers, Patrick’s tears having long run dry, replaced by harsh little breaths he can’t seem to quite get under control.

“We’ll figure it out, Pat,” Jonny repeats, gently but determined, in face of Patrick shaking his head against his chest. “No, we are. I promise. We’ll talk to Dr. Terry, we’ll get you tested and then, then we’ll see. Who knows, it might come back negative, eh? It might. So we-”

“No, Jonny,” Patrick says, placing his hands on Jonny’s chest so he can push himself away enough to lock eyes with Jonny. “Don’t make me, please.”

“You have to-” Jonny begins to protest but Patrick cuts him off.

“Not Dr. Terry,” he says, hating how pleading he sounds. “I can’t ask him.”

Jonny frowns. “Why not? He’s our doctor, Pat. He’s the head of our medical team.”

“Because if I ask him, he’ll know,” Patrick whispers, still feeling mortified by the thought. “He’ll know that there’s a reason why I might have it. That I’m- And that I-”

“It’s not just gay people that are at risk of contracting HIV, Pat,” Jonny says softly, and fuck, Patrick is so grateful for having a friend who can make sense of his stammering. “You asking to get tested wouldn’t tell him anything about your sexuality.”

“Yes, it would,” Patrick insists, because it  _would_. Jonny is a naïve, liberal, Canadian hippie, but not fucking everyone is. People hear HIV, and they think gay, that’s just how it is. Patrick may not know much about this disease but he knows that, and he knows that for the first few years people thought it was an exclusively gay disease. It’s not that he thinks Dr. Terry is a bad doctor who’d think that, but he’d still-

He’d know. Or at least suspect, consider it. And Patrick can’t have that.

“Okay,” Jonny says, and Patrick can tell the only reason he gives in so easily is that he doesn’t want to upset Patrick even further. “Okay, so not Dr. Terry. Then we’ll find you another doctor. Back home in Chicago or-”

Patrick opens his mouth to protest, but Jonny immediately shushes him.

“Or somewhere else where they don’t know your name. We’ll make a road trip out of it.” He gives Patrick a smile but Patrick can’t quite muster up one in return. “It’s going to be alright, Patrick.”

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Patrick shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

“No,” Jonny admits, rubbing soothing circles onto Patrick’s back. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. First we get you tested, then we can worry about the results, okay?”

Patrick closes his eyes, pressing his face against Jonny’s chest again. “But what if it’s positive?”

“Then we’ll figure that out too,” Jonny says and this time, Patrick doesn’t protest, feeling a selfish kind of warmth spread in his chest at Jonny using ‘we’ instead of just ‘you’.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jonny repeats, and it’s barely even there, barely spoken, almost lost on Jonny’s lips like he didn’t speak it for Patrick at all, but for himself.

Scooting a little closer Patrick, carefully slips his leg between Jonny’s, entangling them at the ankles. He shifts, bedding his head a little more comfortably without having to remove himself from Jonny’s embrace. He’ll allow himself tonight. Tonight he’ll let himself be held, soak up all this affection that Jonny is so ready to offer despite knowing that Patrick might be a time bomb, that he might be carrying something inside his veins that could end his career, could end Jonny’s if Patrick somehow infected him.

Maybe it’s the ‘alright’ that Jonny is holding onto like Patrick had with the ‘I’m fine’ that lets him touch Patrick like this. Maybe Jonny is putting all his hope and trust on Patrick being alright, on the test coming back negative, maybe he doesn’t even consider it, the other option. Patrick couldn’t blame him. He’s saying they’d figure it out, but would they? Could they? What’s there to figure out? If you have it you have it, end of story.

 

***

 

Patrick wakes up to the blaring of his alarm way too early. He doesn’t think he’s gotten more than five hours of sleep in total, which is really fucking bad for a night before a game. Patrick may be an early riser but he does value his sleep, more so now than he did five years ago. Jonny however, Jonny has always struggled with getting out of bed in the morning, no matter if he slept two hours or 12. Groaning and pulling the covers over his head, that’s Jonny in the morning for you, and today is no different. In fact it’s almost bizarre how normal everything seems, despite Patrick admitting to his world ending last night.

Jonny curses something unintelligible into the pillow, that Patrick only catches the tail end of. Something about ‘Your fucking alarm, Patrick’ and something about strangling.

It makes Patrick smile despite himself, swinging his legs out of bed and switching off the alarm, not exactly earning himself a thank you but a somewhat content grunt, which is morning Jonny’s version of that.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Patrick says quietly, after allowing himself a moment of just sitting on the edge of his bed, internally lamenting how tired he feels. “Want me to wake you again after?”

Jonny doesn’t make any noise at all this time, face buried completely under his pillow. The only sign that he hasn’t slipped back into sleep again already is the slight twitch in his biceps. Patrick chooses to interpret that as a yes, reminded of all the times he did this when they were rookies, sharing a room and sometimes a bed. Jonny’s grumpiness had been a never ending source of delight for Patrick, although it had led to quite a few fights as well, but those had led to something else too, and well. That’s not on the table right now, but Patrick still likes the memory of it. That year of hooking up with Jonny had been the only time in Patrick’s life that he had sex with someone who mattered to him. Coincidentally it had also been the best sex Patrick has ever had. They had discovered so much together, physically and maybe emotionally too.

“Stop staring at me,” Jonny grumbles into his pillow, staying otherwise completely still.

Patrick laughs, pushing himself to his feet. “You know how it is, people can’t look away from a wreck.” And Jonny in the morning is a train wreck, no questions asked.

He doesn’t stay for Jonny’s answer, and instead fishes a fresh pair of sweatpants and a hoodie as well as socks and underwear out of his suitcase and makes his way into the bathroom.

His eyes still look a little bit puffy, Patrick notes when he throws a glance in the mirror, but that might as well be from sleep to someone who doesn’t know any better, and not his midnight cry session in Jonny’s arms.

The memory of it makes him blush, but, strangely enough, he still feels about ten pounds lighter now that he has told Jonny. With anyone else Patrick would wonder how much of what has been said last night still stands, but he’s known Jonny for a third of his life, he knows that if Jonny says  _they_  will figure something out, together, then Jonny means it. He’s in this with Patrick now, because that’s the kind of friend Jonny is, and Patrick can’t begin to describe how much that makes breathing easier. He isn’t alone in this anymore. It’s still his fuck up, still his health that might be compromised, still his life that might get turned upside down, but Jonny is there now and Patrick feels so damn stupid for not telling him then and there after he threw up onto his shoes at the airport.

Jonny is also the kind of friend who’s dead asleep again when Patrick makes it out of the bathroom, hair wet, and skin rosy from his shower.

Ten years ago, Patrick might have woken him with a prank or a blowjob. Now he settles for turning on the TV. It’s still on the lowest volume level so Jonny isn’t startled awake. The sound of breakfast television simply makes him frown a little in his sleep, a line appearing between his brows that grows deeper when Patrick turns the volume up a few notches every minute that he putters around the room, starting the coffee maker and everything.

“It’s rude to sleep in, in other people’s beds, you know,” he says when Jonny finally manages to pry his eyes open, blinking at Patrick and the television owlishly.

“’s rude to wake people in the middle of the night and talk to them through a door,” Jonny mumbles, rubbing his eyes in a cartoonishly cute way. “Wha’s the time?”

“Time to get up. Sorry,” Patrick informs him, pulling a face. “And-” He halts, clearing his throat. “Sorry, for… for last night. Waking you up and shit.”

“Mh,” Jonny says eloquently, peeling back the covers slowly. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek that Patrick would find hilarious, if he wasn’t feeling so anxious all of the sudden.

“Mh?” he repeats, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Jonny stretches, his back cracking audibly, causing Jonny to grimace.

“I’m not gonna lie,” Jonny says, once he’s done stretching. “I would have preferred to like- Not have this talk in the middle of the night, but I’m-” He lets out a yawn. “I’m glad you told me.” He gives Patrick a tired smile. “We’ll figure it out, but first I need a shower and coffee.”

Exhaling in relief, Patrick manages to give a smile in return. It’s made easier by Jonny looking so ridiculous with his bed hair and bleary eyes. He nods to the buzzing coffee maker. “I can help with the coffee.”

The way Jonny’s eyes light up is simply comical. “I fucking love you,” he declares, walking over to give the back of Patrick’s neck a squeeze.

Patrick tenses. It’s stupid. He knows it is. He spent hours tangled up with Jonny and it was fine, but now, in the light of day, Patrick can’t shake the ill-ease he’s felt at physical contact ever since two weeks ago.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Patrick manages to say, his voice sounding a little rough, even to his own ears, when Jonny is already half across the room, presumably on the way to his own bathroom. “Touch me, I mean. We don’t know, if I’m… you know.” He looks down, dropping to a whisper. “If I have it.”

Jonny stops, brows furrowing as he turns around. “That’s why you’ve been so weird about touching? Not wanting to hug me and shit?”

“I-” Patrick gives a small shrug. “Yeah.”

“You know it can’t be transmitted through… hugs. You know that, right?” Jonny says slowly, squinting at Patrick. “It’s just bodily fluids, I’m pretty sure. Like semen and, uh, blood.”

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick says, although he doesn’t really  _know_ anything about this disease, and what if even what little he knows is wrong? He can’t risk it. He can’t risk getting anyone else sick, least of all Jonny. Even the smallest of risks is too high in Patrick’s book. Maybe that’s a policy he should have followed when thinking about hooking up with Aksel. He’s been so fucking stupid. That’s done though, there’s no way to change that now, but if,  _if_  Patrick has it, he’ll do his damnedest to keep it contained to himself. There’s no fucking way he’ll risk putting someone else through this horror. “I just don’t want to risk it.”

“I’m-” Jonny starts, but he must think better of it, because he breaks off, shaking his head. “Okay. No touching. I’ll go shower now. It’s too fucking early to think about shit.”

“It’s not that early,” Patrick mumbles, watching Jonny pat off into his own room, the sound of the shower coming through the connecting door Jonny didn’t close, only a few minutes later.

Patrick sits down on his bed with a thud. He knows it doesn’t make sense, but he had kind of hoped that Jonny would- He doesn’t even know what he had hoped.

Whatever. Shaking his head, Patrick reaches for the phone to let the room-service know he’s ready for breakfast. He’ll just call in Jonny’s name too. It wouldn’t be the first time. Far from it actually.

 

***

 

They don’t talk about the thing again that day. Once Jonny is done with showering and has ingested enough coffee to function, their food is there and then it’s already time for practice, which goes pretty great, all things considered. At least going from the standard Patrick had established for himself over the past two weeks. It feels good getting his groove back, although the avoidance of contact is still something that throws his teammates off. But none of them say anything and Patrick feels the best he has since Aksel’s call when he returns to the hotel for his pregame nap a few hours later.

They keep the connecting door open. In fact, Patrick is pretty sure they haven’t closed it again since this morning when Jonny had gone to take a shower, and he’s glad for it. He may not feel comfortable with snuggling up to Jonny and satisfying his need for physical comfort, but having the door open is a good substitute. It’s a piece of normality, something that gives Patrick’s bubble a connection to the outside world, making him feel less alone, both literally and mentally.

Patrick is dead to the world the second he lies down for his nap, and the beeping of his alarm waking him has never sounded so cruel to his ears. But he drags himself out of bed, going to brush his teeth, but halts in front of the connecting door.

Jonny is already awake which is, unless Jonny is having a particularly bad case of insomnia (and those usually only happen at night), pretty damn unprecedented. He’s sitting on his bed, leaned against the headboard, laptop propped open on his knees. There’s a tiny crease between his brows that smooths out the moment he looks up, spotting Patrick in the doorway.

“Hey,” Jonny says, as if this is fucking normal, and not a sign of the apocalypse being near.

“Hey,” Patrick echoes, frowning at Jonny. “What’s this?” He gestures to Jonny and all of his… awakeness.

“What’s what?” Jonny asks innocently, clapping his laptop shut and swinging his legs out of bed. “C’mon, Patrick. We’ve got a game to play, don’t we?”

“We do,” Patrick says faintly, his frown deepening. “Didn’t you nap?”

Jonny shoots him an amused glare. “Of course I napped. I just woke up a little early.”

Patrick blinks. “ _You_ woke up early.”

“Yeah, that okay with you?” Jonny tilts his head, eyes twinkling.

Patrick wants to give him a shove. He doesn’t instead he just snorts, throwing his hands up “Oh, fuck off.”

 

***

 

Jonny brings it up again the Monday after their Edmonton game.

They meet up in Lincoln park to go for a run and once they are done, both drenched in sweat and breathing going hard, Jonny asks Patrick if he wants to come by later, after he’s taken a shower. He doesn’t say what it’s about but he doesn’t have to. Patrick knows just by looking at him, by the pointedly casual way he asks. He’s been expecting it, waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since he had found Jonny up uncharacteristically early from his pregame nap in St. Louis.

“What’s up,” Patrick says, giving Jonny a small smile when he shows up at Jonny’s door, forty minutes later, freshly showered, and feeling like he’s about to throw up. “Missed me already?”

“Yeah.” Jonny rolls his eyes, stepping aside to let Patrick in. “Half an hour without your ugly mug to bug me is half an hour too long.”

“Aww, Captain,” Patrick says with a grin, clutching his chest. “I missed that crooked mess you call a smile too.”

He’s so grateful this, for Jonny allowing him to keep up this easy back and forth, for him to chirp back in his uniquely lame, hilarious way. It makes this feel more normal, not like Patrick walking up to his execution. Maybe he’s being a bit dramatic, but it’s fucking HIV. It  _is_  dramatic.

“You are so annoying,” Jonny says fondly, as terrible at comebacks as ever, walking off into the living-room while Patrick is left to toe off his shoes and hang up his jacket by himself. There’s a pair of lady sneakers standing next to Jonny’s already, but Patrick is pretty sure Jonny wouldn’t invite Patrick over for this kind of talk if Lindsey was around too. Before Lindsey, they used to hang out at Jonny’s place a lot, for their movie nights, to play video games, and sometimes just to be in each other’s company. Then Jonny had started seeing Lindsey and without ever really acknowledging it, they had shifted things to Patrick’s place bit by bit. By now Patrick doesn’t even think about it anymore, except in moments like this.

Jonny has sat down on his couch, a number of white boxes with blue writing on the sides spread out on the coffee table in front of him. He’s staring at them intensely, brows drawn together like he’s trying to intimidate them. Patrick wouldn’t be surprised if it worked. He’d been on the receiving end of that look countless of times and while it usually sparks Patrick fight and argue instinct, it  _is_ quite the impressive glare.

Right now though, what’s far more intimidating than Jonny’s shark eyes, is the boxes and the way they are piled up there on the table, innocent and unsuspecting, causing Patrick’s stomach to curl into a painful knot.

“For me? Ah, you shouldn’t have,” Patrick says sarcastically, in an attempt to talk himself into some bravado. He sits down on the couch next to Jonny, making sure to keep a few inches of distance. “It’s not even my birthday yet.”

The corner of Jonny’s mouth curls up, but he doesn’t say anything, instead he reaches for one of the boxes, and hands it to Patrick. Or he means to, because Patrick can’t- He doesn’t take it. He stares at the box, at the writing that reads ‘ _OraQuick In-Home HIV test_ ’ and ‘ _Because knowing is the best thing_ ’ in the top left corner and he just can’t bring his hands to move. All he can do is look at it and not throw up.

Jonny seems to get that too after a few seconds and he puts the box down again, right in front of Patrick this time.

“I’ve been looking at testing options these past few days,” Jonny says after another beat of silence. “There are, uh, blood tests that you can have done in a doctor’s office or at home with certain in-home tests that you have to send into a lab with a blood sample, or quick tests. Accuracy is varying though. And well. I checked, this is one is FDA approved so it should be okay. I- You said you had sex with the guy after Worlds, right? So the possible infection was in May?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says with a frown, looking at Jonny’s face searchingly. “Why does that matter?”

“Because of the accuracy,” Jonny explains, pressing his lips together into a tight line like he sometimes does when he’s thinking hard. “Like I said accuracy varies. It depends. These tests, they test for antibodies. And there’s like a time frame, I think it’s three months post infection, that the body is still beginning to develop those antibodies so if you get tested within these three months and it’s negative, it could be that you actually do have it, but your body hasn’t made enough antibodies yet to be detectable. So they recommend taking another test once those three months are up, but-” He rubs his neck, giving Patrick a small smile. “You talked about Worlds, so we are already past those three months so a negative should be pretty solid, I think.”

Patrick blinks, a little perplexed. Really, he should have expected this with how anal Jonny can be about stuff and how serious he takes shit, but holy shit, Jonny hasn’t just looked up testing options, he researched how this stuff works. Antibodies. Jesus. Patrick knows this is basic biology but they’ve both been out of school for over a decade and he doesn’t think Jonny was particularly science-y in his skills and interests back in his school days either. And yet here he is, rambling about in-home, and sending stuff to labs, and antibody time frames. It catches Patrick a little bit off guard. Patrick couldn’t bring himself to look up the simplest things, Jonny just went above and beyond, flashing Patrick with this level of in-depth research.

“Okay,” he says after a moment, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. “So if it’s negative now, it’s- It’s negative? I’m good? What about when it’s positive? Is that- That’s solid too then or?” He bites his lip, heart beating in his throat. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for. A definite answer, or the possibility of a sliver of hope if the result is-

“Well, yes, kind of,” Jonny says after a short moment of consideration. “But you are always supposed to do another test to confirm a positive result. Just to make sure. That’s what professional labs do, and what doctors recommend.”

“Did you get like ten of these because of that?” Patrick asks, nodding to the pile of boxes. It seems a little excessive, reminding Patrick of all these movies where a chick, thinking she’s pregnant takes a dozen tests just too make sure they all say positive. Maybe that’s where Jonny is coming from too. Or maybe this is Jonny’s version of being panicked. He looks calm and collected with a certain determination to his gaze, but buying ten instead of two tests doesn’t exactly speak of pure rationality.

“They don’t recommend it or anything,” Jonny allows, a little hesitantly, eyeing the pile on the table. “I mean- they do sort of a double test, but they don’t recommend _this_. I just figured why not, you know? If the test is positive, they say you have to get tested for real by sending something to a lab or going to a doctor who then sends shit to the lab for you. They do a Western blot test to confirm, it’s-”

Patrick quirks an eyebrow. “Western blood?”

“No, Western  _Blot_ ,” Jonny insists, flicking Patrick’s thigh. “With a t. Would you let me talk? It’s also about antibodies but they do something differently like with electrolytes, and layering or something. I’m not sure. That’s the second test, the ‘confirm the positive’-test. It’s more precise and if that one turns out positive in addition to an initial positive test then it’s-”

“Then it’s HIV,” Patrick finishes for him, exhaling slowly.

“Yeah,” Jonny says, pressing his lips together. “Then you have it.”

Patrick swallows. “Okay.”

“But it might be negative,” Jonny says quickly, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to reach out for Patrick, but in the end he drops his hand in his lap. “I mean, what are the odds? It was just one time, right? You’ve been careful except that time with Aksel.”

It’s not posed as a question but something about the way Patrick shifts has Jonny squint, the gears in his head visibly turning.

“Patrick,” he says slowly but firmly after another beat of silence. “You are being careful, right? When you hook up with people?”

“I mean,” Patrick can feel the tip of his ears grow hot. “Yeah. Of course, I- I always use protection when I’m the one… uh, receiving. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Jonny’s questioning glare turns into a disbelieving stare, and for a moment it looks like his jaw might actual sack open.

“What?” Patrick means to snap, but it comes out more meek and insecure, a dreadful feeling spreading in his stomach.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, again, same tone, same volume. “You always use protection. Period. Tell me you always use protection, no matter what, and Aksel was just an exception for whatever reason.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything, Jonny keeps staring.

“Patrick,” he repeats. “Tell me.”

Biting his lip, Patrick looks down at his lap, wanting to close his eyes at the incredulous noise Jonny makes.

“Jesus, Patrick,” he says, dark eyes taking Patrick in. “You always have to use protection, whether you’re the one getting fucked or you are the one doing the fucking. You know that, right? I know the risk of catching something is smaller if you are the one giving, but fuck, Pat. There’s still risk. Same goes for oral.”

“Oral?” Patrick pulls a face, glancing at Jonny, chewing on his lip. Jonny knows firsthand how much Patrick likes giving oral, and how hard he gets off on swallowing. It’s not- It sounds like Jonny is telling him that Patrick is supposed to use protection for everything. Not just fucking or getting fucked, but also _blowing_ a guy.

“Yes, Patrick, oral,” Jonny says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Unless you know your partner is clean, you should use a fucking condom for it. What do you think flavored condoms are for?”

“Oh,” Patrick mumbles, continuing to worry his lip. He’s sure he must be as red as a fire engine by now. It’s only a small consolation that the tips of Jonny’s ears are red too. “I thought it wasn’t just- I don’t know. Flavored condoms, I mean- I thought they were a fun gimmick.” He shrugs. “And- We didn’t. You know. You and I. We didn’t use protection. Not for oral or anything.”

“Use flavored condoms for something other than oral and you’ve get a good chance of getting an infection,” Jonny mumbles, rubbing his face with both hands, before blinking at Patrick through the gaps between his fingers. “And I know you and I didn’t, which wasn’t smart, I know that now. But-” He exhales, dropping his hands. “But we were young and, well. You were my first, so. Anyway, the tests. I got-”

“Your first guy,” Patrick says, because yeah, that he knows, but the way Jonny is saying it-

“My first everything,” Jonny says quickly, eyes firmly trained on the pile on the table in front of them. He picks the box up he had tried to hand Patrick, and this time he unceremoniously drops it in Patrick’s lap, no polite offering, or waiting for Patrick to take it.

“The test, Pat,” he continues, talking completely over Patrick’s surprised little ‘Oh’. “We are doing this. I got you a bunch of them because I figured with the accuracy of this rapid home tests being a bit eh, we’d be on the safer side if we just took a bunch, you know because of a bigger sample size and shit.”

“Are you trying to talk statistics to me,” Patrick mumbles distractedly, still a little bit hung up on Jonny’s ten year late revelation that Patrick hadn’t just popped his metaphorical gay cherry, but the cherry in general. The cherry cherry. It doesn’t change anything, not really, but it’s still- Patrick would have liked to know, he thinks. No. He knows. He knows he would have liked to know.

He still remembers it, those first few times, the two of them fumbling around, neither really knowing what they were doing but both so hungry for  _something_. To think that those were Jonny’s first experiences at all, it makes Patrick feel all kinds of things, mostly warm and fuzzy. And proud. But also weirdly regretful in a way he can’t quite put his finger on. For a moment it’s even enough to drown out the dread he feels at the thought of actually knowing (or well having a pointer) if he has- has the HIV, or not. If the test turns out negative, it’s all good, but if it doesn’t, then-

“Patrick, are you listening?”

Patrick’s eyes snap up, meeting Jonny’s, whose still frowning at him.

“Hell yeah, I am,” Patrick says with confidence he doesn’t feel in the slightest. “Let’s do this,  _eh?_ ”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, clearing his throat. “That’s what I was saying. Open it.”

Patrick looks down at the test in his lap, then back at Jonny. He’s not proud of it but what comes out isn’t a self-assured ‘okay’ or even just simple ‘yes’. It’s a scared little “Me?” that has him hang his head in shame. Jesus, he’s a coward. What little fake confidence he’d managed to build up within the last 5 seconds, it just folded in on itself within a heartbeat.

Jonny doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even sigh in frustration. He just gives Patrick a sympathetic smile as he picks up another box from the pile on his coffee table. “Well, I can’t take it for you, so yeah. You. Sorry, Pat.”

“I’m sorry I’m so pathetic,” Patrick mumbles, fiddling with the box in his lap, not yet able to bring himself to actually open it. He means this, the box, and everything else. “This isn’t your problem and yet you-” He gestures to the test pile, his throat tight and raw. “Go all out, and I can’t even open the damn test.”

“Hey,” Jonny says, and this time he does touch Patrick, placing a hand on his knee.

Patrick’s first reaction is to tense, but it’s over the clothes. There’s an entire layer of denim separating them. It’s fine. And it feels good, it grounds Patrick, making it easier to exhale and inhale until he feels a little less like he’s going to start hyperventilating any moment.

“You are not pathetic,” Jonny says firmly, squeezing Patrick’s knee. “You are scared, there’s a difference. And you have every right to be scared. This-” He nods to the test box in Patrick’s hand. “-is scary. I’m scared out of my fucking mind too, believe me. And I’d be losing it, if it was me.”

“Yeah, but it’s not you,” Patrick says quietly, sighing. It’s not Jonny because Jonny apparently knows all kinds of shit about safe sex, and Jonny only ever had sex with two people, and is monogamous as fuck. It’s not him, and judging from their lifestyles, it never would be, could be, whatever.

“No, it’s not,” Jonny agrees, nudging Patrick’s shoulder. “But if it makes you feel better, we can do it together.” He holds up the test box he picked up. “We’ve got more than enough. We could make it a team activity, like the physical before training camp.”

Patrick lets out a laugh, surprising himself with the lightness of it. “A team activity? Team Kaner and Tazer?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, eyes crinkling. “If you want to.”

Patrick eyes him skeptically, no longer laughing.

“You’d do it?” He asks.

The simple sight of this damn test box is giving him anxiety to hell and back, to think that Jonny would do it, open a box of his own and take this test, just so Patrick would feel better, it’s a lot. It’s also very Jonny. Always all in.

“Of course,” Jonny says, as if it’s not even a question, and just like that he pulls open the side of his box. “I mean what do I have to lose? Either I’m negative and everything is okay, or I’m not and I know that I there is something to deal with. It’s win win, isn’t it?”

“I- I guess,” Patrick mumbles, momentarily distracted by the little plastic box Jonny pulls out of the carton box. It’s really fucking weird how Jonny can be so rational about this, see even a positive result as a win. Of course, it’s not about him and the chances of the test being positive for him are pretty much non-existent, but Patrick is pretty sure, even if their roles were reversed, he wouldn’t be able to be so fucking calm about this.

Jonny has flipped the little plastic box open now, flipping through a little booklet that appears to be inside, brows furrowed as he reads.

“So, how does it work?” Patrick asks, sucking in his bottom lip as he glances at Jonny’s box, his own still unopened in his lap. “Do I go pee on a stick now or what?”

Jonny snorts, an amused smile on his face when he looks up. “It’s called _OraQuick_ , Patrick. You think Ora stands for urine?”

Patrick shrugs. What does he know about the naming concepts of pharmacy corporations. Although, Jonny is right, Ora sounds more like oral than something that requires being peed on.

Jonny shakes his head, still smiling as he places the entire kit on the coffee table in front of him. “Okay so, you haven’t eaten, or chewed gum, drank anything, or used whitening strips in the last half an hour, right?”

“Yep,” Patrick answers. He’s had some Gatorade after his run but that’s over an hour ago by now, so he should be fine.

“Okay, great, so, uh,” Jonny says, pausing to fiddle something out of the plastic case. “Apparently you have to take this-” he holds up a little packet labeled ‘test tube’. “-and put it in here.” he points to a vertical slot in the upper part of the plastic case. “Oh and don’t spill or drink the liquid inside the tube.”

“I’ll try not to give in to temptation,” Patrick mutters, finally complying and opening his own box with trembling fingers, under Jonny’s watchful eyes. It takes him a moment to find the right packet, but when he does, he takes a deep breath and rips it open right away, taking out the little tube Jonny talked about.

_This is it_ , he thinks distantly as he watches Jonny put the tube into place, mirroring his movements with his own tube as his heart hammers against his ribcage. This is it now, the moment of truth. They are doing this, they are really doing what Patrick didn’t even want to think about doing the past two weeks. This could all be over in like an hour or however long this test takes. He’ll know then, if he’s gotten lucky or if him being apparently very uneducated and clueless about STDs and shit has finally caught up to him. It all comes down to this test tube thingie and whatnot, this little stupid plastic case. It’s bizarre.

“Okay, so next is this,” Jonny continues, holding up another packet that reads ‘test stick’. “You are not supposed to touch the pad part of the stick. Because that’d mess the test up, so, uh, don’t do that.”

“And don’t pee on it either,” Patrick adds, giving Jonny a weak grin that earns him an eye roll.

“Focus, Peeks,” Jonny says, ripping open his packet and pulling out the little stick thing that does kind of look like a mini pregnancy test. At least the part you pee on. Or something. Patrick only really knows it from movies and that one time Jacquie had her pregnancy scare.

“So you take this-” He gives a tiny wave with the stick that looks ridiculously small in Jonny’s big hands. “-and you swipe it over your upper and lower gum. But don’t go over the same gum twice, because that ‘d mess with stuff too. And then you just put it in the tube here, so the pad is in the liquid and wait.”

“For how long?” Patrick asks, taking the stick out of his own kit, eyeing it skeptically. He still can’t wrap his head around it, that this small plasticky thing could tell him whether or not he has a life-altering disease in the comfort of his own home. Or well, Jonny’s. It’s just a thing. A tiny little plastic thing. Sure there’s science involved but it’s still fucking crazy to think about.

“Twenty minutes,” Jonny answers, thumbing open his phone with his free hand, presumably to get a timer ready. “And after 40 minutes it’s no longer accurate because then it’s overdeveloped or something. So you should check after the 20.”

“What if we just take it out of the tube thingie after 20 minutes,” Patrick suggests, biting his lip. “Then it should stop developing, right?”

“I guess,” Jonny says, busy staring at the tiny stick in his hand. “Okay, Pat. Ready?”

Patrick swallows, eyeing the stick again. “No?”

“C’mon.” Jonny nudges Patrick’s knee with his, finally tearing his eyes away from the stick, to give Patrick something that could be described as an encouraging glare. “Let’s get it over with, then we can watch an episode of that Netflix show you like while we wait, and take all these other tests too, see who can finish their test pile first.”

Patrick lets out a weak chuckle, managing half a smile for Jonny. “I’ll let you know, this is a very poor attempt at trying to get my competiveness involved in this,” he says meekly.

Jonny still smiles. “Is it working anyway?”

“Am I getting competitive about taking HIV tests with you?” Patrick raises an eyebrow. “No. But thanks for trying anyway. And you are right, let’s get it over with.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Jonny says and just like that he puts the stick into his mouth, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

His throat tight with dread, Patrick follows.

 

***

 

Patrick’s world has ended on a Friday morning. It goes up in flames on a Monday. It’s an hour later and they are both looking at a collection of five test sticks each. All of Jonny’s show one line next to the ‘c’ marking on the stick. 

_Negative_.

All of Patrick’s, all five of them, show two lines, small and straight and purple. And most importantly two. Two lines. Jonny double checked, two lines means positive. It meant positive twenty minutes after Patrick first swiped the stick’s pad over his gums, and it still does now, with all these tests staring back at him, all those damn fucking twin pairs of lines.

_Positive_.

“Well, that’s that,” he says quietly, his voice trembling. “What now, Captain?”

Jonny has been eerily quiet for the past ten minutes. Not that Patrick has said much of anything but Jonny had gotten that look in his eyes, intense and a little wild, like a trapped animal ready to pounce with no target in sight. He’s been trying to glare Patrick’s tests into being negative, Patrick is pretty sure, telling that damn second line to fuck off with his mind, but even Jonny has to admit defeat at some point, no matter how much it might kill him. Except that this time it’s Patrick who it’s killing. Or will kill. Whatever. Patrick knows there’s still this Western Blob test to take for final confirmation, but he’s staring at five positive tests, it’s done. It’s over. He’s got it. He’s been fooling himself the past two weeks and now he’s got it, purple on white.  _Positive. HIV positive._

“Now,” Jonny finally says, clearing his throat once, twice, before his voice is somewhere close to even. “Now we get confirmation. We- there’s home tests for that too, where you have to draw your own blood and then send it to a lab, but-”

“But you don’t think that’s the way to go,” Patrick finishes for him, giving Jonny a weak smile. “Do you?”

Jonny shakes his head. “No. I think we should have it done by a medical professional. There are-” He pauses, clearing his throat, once or twice, and fuck, Jonny’s voice sounds almost as brittle as Patrick feels. “We could have it done at a clinic, at the hospital or- Or at- A general care physician.”

“Like Dr. Terry?” Patrick asks, pressing his lips together at the thought of walking up to their team physician and not just asking whether or not their physical check-up contains an HIV test but telling him that he already took one, and that all he needs now is confirmation.

“Well, Dr. Terry is a specialist for orthopedics, so I’m not sure-” Again Jonny breaks off, rubbing his neck. “He can draw the blood and send it to the lab but I’m not sure how much he knows about HIV treatment, he’d probably confer with Dr. Hiotis? And-”

“And what?” Patrick presses when Jonny doesn’t continue, looking pretty intent on keeping his mouth shut, the way he’s picking at the hem of his shirt. “And what, Jonny?”

“No and,” Jonny says stubbornly, rubbing his hands over his face, before turning to face Patrick with a sigh. “It’s just that, if you have it. And it’s an if, we don’t have it confirmed yet, if you do then- Then- Shit, I don’t know Patrick. If Dr. Terry, if any of the medical team know, then the Hawks know, and what if some uneducated, piece of shit stuck in the 80s decides that you’re a risk so they won’t let you play anymore? Put you on LTIR or something? Bury you in the system?”

He looks at Patrick, all Bambi eyes, and Patrick feels a wave of cold ripple through him, different from what he’s felt when he watched test after test turn positive. That had been the impact, the puck hitting your face, pain spreading through your skull. This now, this is the aftermath, this is your head hitting the ice and the taste of blood on your tongue, blood running your throat as you try to cough it up but just get more and more into your lungs. Cause and effect. Action and reaction.

“They can do that, can’t they?” Patrick chokes out, exhaling harshly through his nose. It’s not that he hasn’t somewhere distantly thought about this, but now, with the two purple lines staring at him, it’s real. It’s fucking real and Patrick feels like it’s filling his veins with lead. “They can just- Just get rid of me? Kick me off the team. Fuck, fuck, Jonny, I-”

“No, Pat, they can’t kick you off the team,” Jonny says, and it doesn’t make any fucking sense, because Jonny just said himself that some uneducated ass is going to call Patrick a risk and then- “There’s- There’s a thing called the Americans with Disabilities Act, and it explicitly says that your employer can’t discriminate against you because of your HIV status as long as you can still do your job. And the Hawks, the organization, they are your employer, so-”

_Americans with Disabilities Act_. Patrick drops his head into his hands, taking gulping breaths in through his mouth. Is this- Is this a thing that concerns him now? That he’s- He’s that? The two lines on these tests, they make him disabled, they don’t just mean he’s sick, that he’s at risk of dying or something, they mean that he’s at risk of losing hockey. The one thing that Patrick has always given everything for. Given and given up. The thing that had made everything else worth it, and now two lines might make him lose that?

“That’s not fair,” Patrick chokes out, his shoulders trembling. “I can- I’m still me, I’m- Fuck. I- I need to play, Jonny. I need to.”

“I know,” Jonny says, his voice strained. “And you will. I promise, okay? I’m gonna raise fucking heaven and hell if they try to keep you from the ice because of this, you understand? I’ll get all the fucking experts that’ll tell them that you _can_ play, that there’s virtually no risk, that you and we can be safe. I’m going to fucking get all the boys on board and-”

“No,” Patrick sobs, raising his head to give Jonny a pleading look. “No you can’t tell the boys, they can’t know, no one can fucking know, Jonny.”

And Jonny doesn’t even really _know_ all these things he’s talking about, that Patrick won’t be a risk to anyone, that he can actually still play with this –this virus inside of him. Jonny’s had two days of reading up on this shit, he may know more than Patrick, but he’s not an expert so what if- Fuck, what if Patrick _is_ a risk, what if he really shouldn’t play? If he’s putting other players at risk, how could he-

But it’s hockey. It’s fucking hockey, and Patrick _needs_ it, like he needs air in his lungs. He’s lived and breathed hockey for as long as he can think, he can’t just lose it.

“What if I just don’t get the confirmation test,” he says desperately, watching Jonny look away, blinking rapidly as if he’s holding back tears that have long started rolling down Patrick’s cheeks. “What if we just-” He gestures to the table. “Throw these away, and pretend-”

“No, Pat,” Jonny cuts him off, sounding choked up, but firm. “You need to get confirmation and you need to get treatment, if you have it. That is not up for debate.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Patrick finds himself snapping, wiping his eyes with his sleeve in a feeble attempt to dry them. “It’s my body, my virus, my two lines, I can just-”

“It’s not up for fucking debate, are you fucking kidding me?” Jonny suddenly yells, gripping Patrick by the collar. Up close like this, Patrick can _see_ the tears glistening in Jonny’s dark eyes, wild with desperation. “You’re my best fucking friend and I’m not going to watch you let a virus destroy your fucking immune system within the next ten fucking years when you could have made that twenty or thirty years by taking some damn pills. I’m not gonna do that, Patrick. I don’t care how scared you are. I fucking won’t.”

“Jonny,” Patrick whispers, having to close his eyes at the sight of raw pain in Jonny’s eyes. “I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” Jonny insists, and suddenly his hands are no longer fisted into Patrick’s collar, but at the sides of his face, holding it firmly and yet, so, so gently, like Patrick is something fragile.

“You can, Pat,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against Patrick’s. And Patrick wants to push him away, he knows he should, but he doesn’t. He breathes in, reaches out, clawing his fingers into the front of Jonny’s shirt. “You can. You have to. And I’ll help you. I’ll be there. I’ll be there every fucking step of the way, I promise, but you have to promise me to try.”

“Try what,” Patrick gets out between trembling lips, not daring to open his eyes again.

“To try and fight this,” Jonny says, and Patrick can hear the way he grits his teeth, forcing the words out with every inch of his willpower. “You’ll get the confirmation test and if it says positive, you’ll do what the doctor says, you’ll take whatever meds you need, and you’ll go on whatever diet is best, and you’ll- Fuck, you’ll fight. You’ll fight this virus, you won’t give up. You’ll try. Promise me you’ll _try_.”

And how is Patrick supposed to say no to that? Jonny is begging him, ordering him, asking, he’s- Jonny is crying. Jonny doesn’t cry but he’s crying now. Patrick can hear it in the way his breath hitches. There’s wetness on his cheeks when Patrick reaches up to cup his jaw, and it’s just so much, so much raw emotion, that Patrick can’t help but nod. He’ll try, he has to try. It’s not a question, it’s just- He got scared, scared of this reality, scared of losing hockey, scared of everything, so he thought that if he just ignored it like he had ignored the whole issue for two weeks, it’d go away, but this right now is proof that it doesn’t work that way and thank fucking god, Patrick has Jonny to knock some sense into him, get through the panic and force this promise out of him.

“I’ll try,” Patrick whispers, cradling Jonny’s jaw, holding onto his shirt like it’s his only lifeline. “I promise I’ll try.”

That’s all he can do really, and he’s so incredibly glad that this is all Jonny asked for, for Patrick to try. Not in a way that’d suggest he doesn’t believe that Patrick can do it, that he can fight it, but simply like he knows (and he does, better than Patrick probably) that this isn’t entirely up to Patrick. There’s a virus inside of him now, has been for months but now he knows and now it’s there and while there are treatment options apparently, there’s no cure, and Jonny spoke of twenty, maybe thirty years. That’s not a life time, that’s not 80 or 90. That’s almost the age Patrick’s dad is now.

“Promise me, you’ll be there,” Patrick pleads, selfishly, masochistically, and maybe a little irrationally. He shouldn’t. He knows, but it’s like the physical comfort Jonny offers, is something Patrick can’t resist. He needs this, he needs to know Jonny is there, that even if his entire world is burning Jonny is there to walk with him through the flames, even if he might get hurt too in the process.

Jonny has always been far too ready to burn for Patrick.

It’s why all those years ago Patrick had ended their relationship, not wanting it to become that, to become more, too scared of too much too soon, and those feelings that he knew were simmering underneath Jonny’s skin, getting stronger with each touch, each kiss.

“I promise,” Jonny whispers, like Patrick had been so sure he would. “Every step of the way, Pat. I promise.”

Patrick doesn’t think either of them knows what that really means yet.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“So what can I do for you, Jon?” Dr. Terry asks when Jonny and Patrick slip into his office after practice that day. Patrick knows that technically they should probably talk to one of their internal medicine guys, but both he and Jonny know Dr. Terry better, and feel more comfortable with him.

They’d both been a little off during practice but mostly it had still come as a welcome distraction, something else than the devastating reality the tests had revealed, to focus on. For Jonny too, Patrick is pretty sure.

Jonny had been embarrassed by his emotionality once he’d calmed down, and he still is, because unlike Patrick, Jonny isn’t used to spilling tears in front of other people. There had been moments of course, over the years, but Jonny has much more of a grip on his emotions and the way he displays them than Patrick does, so having lost his grip on them now, had upset him.

It’s flattering in a way, that Patrick had been who drew this raw emotions out of Jonny but at the same time it’s unsettling too, because if Patrick cries, it doesn’t have to be a big deal, but if Jonny cries, then it’s bad. Then its _bad_ bad.

Once the two of them had managed to stop crying they had silently agreed on a topic change, getting the army of tests out of sight, and instead starting up a movie of Jonny’s choice. _Wonder Woman_ , Patrick had noted silently, cuddling a bitcloser to Jonny’s side. Jonny had made a surprised little noise but hadn’t hesitated when wrapping his arm around Patrick’s shoulders and pulling a blanket over their laps.

Patrick hadn’t caught much of the movie, too emotionally and mentally exhausted but it had been nice anyway, just like driving together to practice with Jonny had been. It’s something they used to do a lot during their first few years, but had stopped eventually for a reason Patrick can’t quite remember. Practicability maybe. But it’s nice to do it again. Patrick feels a little more in control when he slips into the driver’s seat, having Jonny sit on the passenger seat beside him, fiddling with his phone. There may not be much that Patrick can do about this Virus, about being sick and how people will react to it, but he can do this, he can drive himself and his friend to practice. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.

“How’s the back? Any twinges?” Dr. Terry continues, frowning a little at Patrick closing the door with himself still inside.

Patrick had chickened out at the last second, not daring to ask Dr. Terry for a talk after practice so Jonny had been the one to do it, throwing out a quick “Got a moment after practice, doc?” at their team doctor, like it was the easiest thing in the world, and now they are here, the rest of the boys getting ready to leave and go on with their days while Jonny and Patrick sit down in their doctor’s office, Patrick holding the plastic bag that contains one of his positive tests.

“It’s fine,” Jonny says dismissively, nudging Patrick’s knee with his under the table. “Actually this isn’t about me.”

“It’s not?” Dr. Terry asks, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Jonny says, leaning back a little, throwing Patrick a glance.

Patrick feels like he’s going to die. When they had talked about this in the car, before walking into the locker room, they had agreed that Patrick would tell Dr. Terry himself. Jonny had offered to lead the conversation but Patrick had refused. Jonny has already done the research, got the tests, and everything, and Patrick is a grown man, he should be able to do shit like this himself.

Now that it’s do or die though, he feels very much like dying. He’s got a fucking time bomb in his damn lap and it hasn’t even been forced on him, he just- He was stupid and reckless and now he’s got this thing and has to rope other people into it and it’s the worst fucking thing that has ever happened to him. After the 2015 accusations Patrick had been sure that he could never feel as low again, no matter what.

Turns out ‘never’ only took three years.

“Kaner?” Dr. Terry prompts calmly, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “Do _you_ want to tell me what this is about?”

 _No_ , Patrick thinks, nodding his head anyway, feeling his throat get dryer by the second.

“Okay,” Dr. Terry says, looking at him expectantly.

Jonny is looking at him too, but it’s less expectant and more supportive, more a ‘I’m here if you need me, just say the word’ kind of look and while Patrick appreciates it, he also can’t take Jonny up on the offer. He gives him a small smile, a tiny head shake. Patrick’s got to do this himself.

He closes his eyes for a second, inhales, exhales, then: “I fucked up, doc.”

Dr. Terry furrows his brows. “Health-wise?”

 _Yes_ , Patrick bites back. Of fucking cause health-wise. Otherwise he’d be talking to legal and/or PR, not his doctor. He gets that Dr. Terry has to clarify, though. Patrick isn’t exactly giving him much and the fact that Jonny is here for metaphorical and yet probably very obvious hand holding, doesn’t speak in his favor either.

“Yeah,” he says instead, voice just the tiniest bit croaky. “I’ve had-” - _unprotected sex with an HIV positive guy-_  “-After Worlds when I was in Denmark, I-” – _I had sex with a stranger who called me two weeks ago telling me to get tested for HIV-_ “-I-”

“He had a risk event, in May,” Jonny butts in, squeezing Patrick’s knee once under the table, encouragingly. This is not Jonny taking over, this is just him jumping in, helping Patrick over a speed bump, giving him the push that he needs without pushing too far.

“Yeah, uh, a risk event,” Patrick echoes, licking his lips. “But I didn’t know until now, that it was that. That I might-” He breaks off again, looking down at his lap and the little plastic bag. Taking in a deep breath, he pulls it out. “So I did one-”  _–or ten_ \- “-of these in-home tests. For- For HIV. And-” He places it on the table in front of him, watching Dr. Terry reach for it, carefully taking it in hand and examining it with his gaze.

“It’s positive,” Patrick finishes, blinking back the tears that are threating to rise in his eyes again. “So, I- It’s- Yeah. I need a confirmation test, right? Western Blot or something?”

Dr. Terry is silent for a while, a long while. Or maybe that’s just Patrick’s perception, but it feels like an entire eternity passes before Dr. Terry gives him a calm and collected: “Yes, that is correct.”

Patrick swallows, glancing up at him. “Okay. So- So you need to draw blood, right?”

“Yes,” Dr. Terry confirms, and there it is, just a flash of it, but it’s there, for a moment it’s there, bright and clear: pity.

It’s better than disgust, Patrick guesses, but it’s still not the thing Patrick wants to see on his doctor’s face. You only get that face when things are bad. It’s like Jonny’s tears. It doesn’t just mean that things are a bit shitty, it means they are  _bad_. Patrick had seen a milder version of this look when he’d been crying in pain, his collarbone in shatters, looking at possibly twelve weeks of recovery, at the end of his season. Now the look is worse, because things are worse. They aren’t looking at twelve weeks of recovery, they are looking at a lifetime of managing,  _maybe_.

“I must ask though, Patrick,” Dr. Terry starts and Patrick winces internally. Patrick, not Kaner. With everyone but Jonny, the use of his real first name and not some abbreviation or nickname is a bad sign. “Why didn’t you come to me, or our medical team, for your first test? These in-home tests aren’t as accurate as a blood test performed by a health care professional.”

“I know,” Patrick says, biting his lip. “It’s nothing against you, doc, but I just- I wanted to get this over with and I hoped it’d be negative anyway.”

“And we took more than one,” Jonny cuts in, eyes focused on Dr. Terry. “To see if the results would be consistent. And they were.”

“ _We_?” Dr. Terry raises one eyebrow, seizing them both up and down.

It takes Patrick a couple of seconds to catch up.

“ _No,”_ he says quickly, face undoubtedly flaming red. “No. No, we didn’t- Jonny, just- Out of solidarity. He’s not- We- He didn’t have a risk event. Just- Just me. Yeah.”

Dr. Terry simply nods, taking Patrick’s embarrassed stammering in stride. It’s Jonny who looks irritated.

“Three no’s. Really, Patrick?” He says, sounding honest to god a little huffy.

Patrick just stares at him, because what.

“Alright,” Dr. Terry says after another short pause, standing up and walking over to one of the side cabinets. “Patrick, would you please roll up your sleeve, I’m going to draw your blood now. The results should take about three days, which means we’ll be on the Western Canada road trip. I’ll arrange for the lab to call me though, so we know as soon as possible.”

 _As soon as possible would have been two weeks ago_ , Patrick thinks guiltily. He just nods though, rolling up his sleeve to give Dr. Terry access.

Jonny still looks a little pissy but doesn’t say anything, just watches Dr. Terry prepare the needle and then put it into Patrick’s arm, connecting the testing tube to it.

Patrick watches too, eyes trained on the blood that fills the tube. His blood. It looks like it has every other time he had his blood drawn, and rationally he knows that it wouldn’t look any different but the childish, simple-minded part of him is convinced that it  _should_  look different because he’s sick now. His blood has a virus in it, if anyone came into contact with it, they’d be at risk. Patrick didn’t just have a risk event, he  _is_  one now. He’s- Dr. Terry thought that, because Jonny got tested too, and because they are close, and now here together, that Patrick had been Jonny’s risk event, which-

Fuck, that can never happen, not with Jonny, not with anyone, not ever again. Patrick can’t do that, he can’t risk it. It’s- It’s done, this part of his life, of him, it’s got to be. Patrick can’t ever risk putting anyone else through what he’s going through right now. It’s just not an option, no matter how much he might want sexual intimacy again one day. Right now he can’t picture it, and maybe that’s a good thing. He’s been alone for years, banking all his hopes on an after-retirement-maybe. A maybe that he’ll have to bury now. All because of two lines on a stick. All because of one ill-advised night, one mistake, one moment where not knowing any better and not bothering to learn, has caught up to him.

“All done,” Dr. Terry says after a moment, popping the tube out and setting it aside before pulling the needle out of Patrick’s arm, handing him a cotton swab. “You know the drill,” he says, stripping off his latex gloves and walking back to his pc, blood tube on a metal tray.

Patrick just gives him a weak nod, pressing the cotton swab on the puncture in his arm, trying not to let show how much the sight of his own blood is currently freaking him out. God, he misses not being squeamish about shit like this.

“Okay,” Patrick says, after taping the cotton to his arm with the offered tape, clearing his throat for what feels like the thousandth time in the last few days. “So, uhm. Thanks, doc.”

Before he can get up though, Jonny grabs him by the arm, pulling him back down into his seat under the amused, questioning gaze of Dr. Terry. Jonny is looking back grimly, eyes as intense as ever.

“If the Western Blot is positive too,” he starts, causing Patrick to sink further into his seat. “What happens then, do you have a plan? Is there a protocol for this kind of situation? How is the organization going to handle an HIV positive player on their team?”

“Jonny,” Patrick mumbles, but Jonny’s jaw is set with determination.

“I’ve done some reading and as long as Patrick is still able to do his job, which he will be, if  _you_  do your job-”

“ _Jonny_ ,” Patrick hisses, mildly mortified, eyes growing wide.

Jonny barrels on. “Then it would be illegal if the team were to try and keep him from playing. Patrick is still a brilliant player and this doesn’t change that, so if-”

“Jon,” Dr. Terry interjects, voice firm and calm. “Let’s go one day at a time, alright? First we get the diagnosis confirmed, then-”

“No,” Jonny interrupts grimly. “Not ‘then’. You are a doctor, you know more than us about this disease, so you should be able to tell us what a positive diagnosis would mean for Patrick’s playing career. You, your team, are the experts the organization will ask. I get that you can’t keep something like this from the Hawks, I do. If Patrick worked somewhere else he wouldn’t legally have to tell his employer but we are hockey players, this is physical and sometimes people bleed, I get it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t play without posing a risk to other people. I’m sure there’s safety measures, and-”

“Jonny, stop,” Patrick pleads, tugging at Jonny’s sleeve, but Jonny swats his hand away like it’s nothing, like Patrick has no say in this at all.

Which is bullshit, because Patrick should have all the say. This is about him after all. It’s him and his virus, not Jonny. This is just too confrontational, this is not how Patrick does things. They’ve already cried about Patrick maybe losing hockey before practice. Patrick doesn’t need to lose it here in front of their doctor too. Jonny may be the kind of guy to take on things like this head on, to go for rather an end in pain rather than a pain with no end approach, but fuck, Patrick is a coward, and he is not okay with Jonny pushing things like this, even when it comes from a place of wanting to help.

“Jon, what do you want me to say here?” Dr. Terry asks, eyes locked with Jonny. “I can’t tell you how the organization will react. This is unprecedented. There’s only been Bill Goldsworthy when it comes to NHLers with HIV or AIDs, and his case isn’t exactly well documented.”

“I want you to say that you’ve got Patrick’s back,” Jonny says heatedly, staring at Dr. Terry. “I want you to say that yes, Patrick can keep playing safely and that that is what you’ll tell the organization when they come to you as their health expert. _That_ is what I want.”

Oh. Patrick looks down at his lap. Jonny isn’t going all out yet. He’s going further than Patrick would have wanted him to but it’s not- all Jonny wants is to make sure that their doctor is on Patrick’s side. He isn’t asking for the Hawks organization to pledge their loyalty to Patrick right this second, he isn’t asking for a fully fleshed out plan, he’s simply asking for a promise of support, if not from the entire franchise, than just from Dr. Terry.

Which would be really fucking nice, if Patrick is being honest, so he shoots Dr. Terry a hesitant but hopeful look, biting his lip.

Dr. Terry glances at him, then at Jonny, folding his hands in front of him. “I can promise you that as a doctor I will do what is best for my patient first and foremost.” Then after a short pause, he adds: “And you are correct, technically, from a medical point of view, if Patrick should be physically able to play. A positive HIV status, if managed properly, shouldn’t interfere with that. That’s the stance I will take but I cannot make any promises for the organization or anyone else.”

“I’m not asking for anything more than that,” Jonny says even though his eyes tell a different story. Still, he must understand that this is all they are going to get and that to Patrick, it’s still huge.

Patrick exhales deeply, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. He can play, from a medical point of view he can play. He’s got a doctor on his side, he’s got Jonny and a doctor. That’s already more than he thought he had three days ago, when he’d still clung to the hope of everything being alright anyway.

“Thank you, Dr. Terry,” Jonny adds and Patrick nods hastily, giving Dr. Terry a smile.

“No problem, boys,” Dr. Terry says, sounding vaguely amused but still serious. “This is a general assessment though. Once we have confirmation we’ll have to make further tests, I trust that you know that.” He looks at Patrick. “Check your viral load, your CD4 count, etc. And develop a treatment plan accordingly. How well you respond to that treatment will determine how fit to play you really are.”

“You said the same when you put me on antibiotics for my bronchitis,” Jonny points out, corner of his mouth quirked up.

Patrick lets out a small laugh. “Pneumonia,” he corrects but Jonny just waves him off.

“I did,” Dr. Terry says. “Surprisingly, the concept of seeing how well someone responds to a treatment can be applied to more than one health issue. Now, Patrick, I trust that you know to be careful now, even if we don’t have confirmation yet. Do not have unprotected sex, if you happen to bleed, do not have other people come in contact with it, do not-”

“I got it,” Patrick says quickly, cheeks bright red, as he stands up, giving Dr. Terry a perfunctory smile. “I won’t, I promise. No blood oaths with the boys this weekend.”

“Good,” Dr. Terry says, reaching out to shake both Patrick’s and Jonny’s hand. “Now go and get some rest. You’ve got a long season ahead of you.”

“Thanks, doc,” Patrick says again, giving Dr. Terry a nod before both he and Jonny step out of his office.

It’s only once they are outside in Patrick’s car, Jonny again in the passenger’s seat, that Patrick thanks him too, earning himself a surprised glance.

“It’s fine,” Jonny says, putting on his seatbelt, as Patrick does the same. “You did the hard part.”

Patrick doesn’t think he did, not entirely anyway, but he doesn’t say that. Jonny knows, he must, that Patrick wouldn’t be here without him -that he’d still be at home, talking himself into believing that he surely already got tested during the summer. It seems stupid and naïve now, as it had been then, and yet Patrick knows that going back in time, he probably wouldn’t be able to do anything any different. He nods anyway, wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel.

“It wasn’t okay though, how you pushed Dr. Terry,” Patrick says after a short moment of pulling himself together. He glances at Jonny. “I appreciate that you wanted him to promise his support, but you can’t just talk on my behalf like that, Jonny.” Licking his lips, Patrick exhales through his nose. “You go all in all at once, and I-”

“I just wanted you to have assurance,” Jonny interrupts him, brows furrowed. “I did it for you.”

“I know you did,” Patrick says with a sigh, rubbing his brow. It feels like he’s been on a roller-coaster all fucking day, making everything, including his own emotions feel so goddamn shaky and unsteady. “But I didn’t ask you to. I asked you to be there and be my support, I didn’t want you to bully Dr. Terry into pledging his alliance or something.”

Jonny stares at him. “You were scared before practice. You cried. We- We cried. We- You told me losing hockey would be the worst so I wanted to make sure that we get all the back-up we can get as soon as we-”

“We?” it escapes Patrick before he can bite his tongue. “Did your test say positive?”

Jonny looks at him for a few long moments, then visibly clenching his jaw he turns to stare out of the front window. “No. It didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, starting the car, and putting it into reverse. “It didn’t.”

 

***

 

They’ve just arrived in Edmonton, twenty days after Aksel first dropped the news on Patrick, when Dr. Terry takes him aside to give him his diagnosis. It’s positive, which doesn’t come as a surprise. It’s something Patrick has been trying, struggling to accept ever since the first two purple lines have appeared on his testing stick. Now he’s just getting confirmation. He’s HIV positive. End of story.

It’s an awful conversation, not because Dr. Terry is unprofessional or unfriendly, but simply because nothing, not the kindest person in the world could make a talk like this anything less than horrible. Dr. Terry sits him down in an empty conference room at the hotel for the lack of a better option that isn’t one of their rooms and still provides privacy. There, he and two other guys from the medical staff explain to Patrick what exactly HIV and being HIV positive means, in general, and for him.

The first thing they tell him (and Patrick doesn’t want to think about why this is what they choose to open with) is that HIV and AIDS aren’t diseases that are exclusive to one gender or sexuality. That you can get it whether you are gay, straight, man, woman, no matter what kind of gender or sexuality, that it doesn’t even always have to be sex that serves as act of transmission. It is for Patrick, and Patrick is most definitely very gay, but they don’t ask that and Patrick is glad for it.

They tell him that the H in HIV stands for Human, which Patrick didn’t know; not that he had ever thought about it. Human Immunodeficiency Virus, and really, the name alone gives you an idea of how the disease works, Patrick realizes after a few minutes of explanation. It’s a virus that attacks your immune system, makes it deficient, unable to properly fight off diseases. Because apparently the Virus kills cells that are supposed to fight those disease.

There are a bunch of fancy words, sciences and medical shit Patrick doesn’t understand but the gist of it is that CD4 cells get destroyed (Patrick dimly remembers those being mentioned by Dr. Terry when he’d gotten his blood drawn), which eventually leads to the person having AIDS, once the CD4 counts goes too low. That’s what they call the last stage of the HIV infection.

There are generally three, Patrick learns, feeling sick to his stomach when he realizes that he already went through stage one without knowing.

Stage one is the acute infection stage, apparently happing to around four weeks after the infection. It’s characterized by flu-like symptoms, like a fever, a rash, night sweats, a sore throat. It’s pretty much what Patrick went through in late June, assuming it to be nothing but a weird summer bug, not even thinking twice about it. You don’t get a fever and think HIV, you just don’t, and yet Patrick can’t help but feel like he should have known. He should have fucking known. He had gone home to Buffalo during that time, had let his mom take care of him, his sisters cuddle him, he-

They tell him that the risk of having infected his family through normal contact like this would be below 0,2% but Patrick still feels sick and guilty and just horrible all together, so much that he barely registers anything that Dr. Terry tells him about stage two, the one he is apparently in right now.

It’s the stage during which the virus lies dormant, or so it appears. It’s mostly symptomless (clinical latency, they tell him), so you are feeling fine, the way Patrick is right now. The virus is multiplying inside of your body however, not as rapidly as it did during stage one, but it’s there, destroying cell after cell. Dr. Terry says that untreated, this stage of chronic HIV might take ten years or longer to develop into AIDS, or if you are unlucky, much, much fewer.

That’s where treatment comes in. With treatment the odds can be shifted very much in favor of 20, if not 30 or 40 years, and if you are very fucking lucky, never. In fact, modern HIV treatment can give you a life expectancy unaffected by your HIV positive status.

He learns that it’s not really AIDS that kills you. AIDS just fucks up your immune system so badly that it can’t fight of any infections anymore. Those infections are what kill you within a number of years, that, again get increased by treatment that Patrick is strongly advised to take if the time ever comes. For now though, they’ll focus on things not getting this far any time soon, and preferably never.

They schedule an appointment for the first day they are back in Chicago to check his viral load and current CD4 count so they know where to start, and then, just like that, Patrick is free to go, free to join his team in the lobby where they are loudly discussing where to go eat lunch, whether the hotel restaurant or splitting up into groups and going out into town is the way to go.

Patrick catches Jonny’s eye through the crowd and he can tell by the look on Jonny’s face that he doesn’t have to say anything. Jonny knows, be it from Patrick’s own expression or something else.

He gives Patrick a small, sympathetic smile. Patrick shrugs, not quite managing to smile back.

 

***

 

“So what’s the plan?” Jonny asks once they’ve both sat down on Jonny’s couch, food in their laps and ‘Hidden Figures’s menu screen muted on Patrick’s TV. It’s movie night, following Patrick’s treatment discussion appointment with Dr. Terry in the afternoon, after everyone but Patrick had already went home.

Jonny had visibly wanted to ask how it went the moment Patrick had let him into the condo but he’d restrained himself, something Patrick is more than just a little thankful for. A lot had been said during the appointment and the truth is, Patrick is pretty sure he already forgot half of it.

There’s a stack of papers he’s supposed to read somewhere on his kitchen counter, together with a number of prescriptions that he’ll have to fill tomorrow, or better yet find a 24 hour pharmacy and get it done tonight. He should have done it on his way home from Dr. Terry’s office but his head had been swimming with facts and he’d just felt a little too overwhelmed to properly deal with this in that moment. He’ll have to eventually, he knows that, but for now, all he had wanted was sit on his couch with his best friend and get his thoughts in order before he did anything.

Jonny is good at that, helping Patrick recap, summing things up, talking things through. They’ve been each other’s sounding boards for years now, mostly when it came to hockey, but life shit too. This definitely counts as life shit, and Jonny is already involved anyway so while Patrick is glad Jonny didn’t start questioning him the second he stepped in, he’s happy that he’s here now and will eventually ask, forcing Patrick into action and giving him the opportunity to do it in a way he’s comfortable with.

Patrick had tried bringing it up himself, making the first step and stop being a coward, but in the end he hadn’t been able to, the words getting stuck in his throat, so they had cooked together first, talking about nothing in particular, while preparing movie night. Now though, Jonny’s patience seems to be up. Patrick exhales deeply, smacking his lips together.

“The plan to improve our power play so we don’t look like a bunch of toddlers against Philly this weekend?” he asks innocently, cutting off a piece of his spring roll, scooping up a bit of rice with it. “Cause I’ve got a few thoughts on that.” He grins, knowing Jonny won’t let him get away with this half-hearted diversion.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Sounds intriguing. But what about the plan that’s supposed to prevent my best friend from dying of AIDS before he’s fifty? Got thoughts on that?”

“Oh, _that_ plan,” Patrick says, chewing carefully before swallowing, mostly to give himself time. “You’ve gotta learn to be more specific, Captain. Got me all confused and shit.”

“It’s not my fault that you were dropped on the head as a child,” Jonny comments, chirps as weak as ever, even more so since Jonny is clearly not in the mood for joking. He’s making an effort at least. Patrick can appreciate that.

“No, but as my illustrious Captain you should adapt to the needs of your players,” Patrick says, taking another bite of his plate, chewing obnoxiously with an open mouth.

Jonny snorts, obviously at least somewhat amused by Patrick’s stalling, despite not having it, being his usual pushy self, that has gotten Patrick to push himself so much further than he ever thought he could before. It’s just the effect Jonny has on people. Patrick has never been an exception to that.

“Enough now, Pat,” Jonny says fondly, but stern, leaning in to flick Patrick’s ear. “What did the doc say? C’mon I’ve been worrying all day.”

“It’s your motherly instincts,” Patrick teases weakly, finally putting down his fork. “Mother hen.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jonny says absently, frowning at Patrick. “Why are you stalling? What did the tests say? What’s your viral load? How’s your CD4 count? You’ve gotta give me something.”

Sighing, Patrick looks down at his lap before locking eyes with Jonny again. He shrugs. “Viral load is at 100,000.” Jonny nods as if that number means anything to him. Maybe it does. Patrick thought he forgot pretty much everything he’s been told, but as usual, numbers stick pretty well in his brain. “And, uh, my CD4 count is at- It’s- It’s below 500.”

 _That_ number means something to Jonny too, evidently, more than it had to Patrick when Dr. Terry had read it to him. Jonny obviously deepened his research and while Patrick isn’t exactly surprised, it still catches him a little bit off guard. Jonny denies being a mother hen whenever he can, but who does what Jonny has done for Patrick, for their buddy without having overly active motherly instincts? Doing in-depth research on a disease despite having zero to none medical knowledge. Jonny must have done a lot of reading over the past week, all while Patrick had just moped around in his company and felt sorry for himself.

Patrick has no idea what he’d do without Jonny.

“That’s not good,” Jonny says, staring at Patrick. “Normal is between 500 and 1,500. Is- It’s not below 400 though, right?”

Patrick doesn’t say anything, Jonny keeps staring.

“Right?” he insists, intimately reminding Patrick of how disbelievingly Jonny had asked Patrick to tell him that not using a condom with Aksel had been the exception for Patrick, not the rule.

Except that this time, the way Patrick flushes with shame is completely irrational, because yeah, maybe this infection is Patrick’s own fault, but it’s not like he had a choice in his CD4 count. When Dr. Terry had told him 400, it hadn’t even meant anything to him. Only the empathetic ‘No’ after he’d asked if that was good, had given him any indication.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, having grown a little wild around the eyes. “It’s not below 400, right?”

“No,” Patrick says, pushing a piece of spring roll through a little pond of sauce. “It’s pretty much 400 on the dot.”

Jonny is quiet for a moment before he says again: “That’s not good.” As if Patrick didn’t hear him the first time.

And yeah, Patrick kind of got that, both from Dr. Terry’s words and now Jonny’s reaction. It’s not even like 400 is some sort of magic line. That’s 200, that’s when you’ve got AIDS, when it gets below that, but still, he kind of gets it. 400 of 1,500, that’s not even half, it’s a fifth below of what is considered the lowest number that is still acceptable. 400 isn’t acceptable, 400 is your immune system operating on decreased efficiency, making you susceptible for infections at a far higher level than a normal person would be.

“That’s why my inflammation values have been elevated,” Patrick says quietly, echoing what Dr. Terry told him. “And why I’ve been feeling a bit fatigued lately. My body is probably struggling with some minor infections that yours would just-” he gestures like he’s swatting away a fly. “-so yeah. But treatment might fix that, right? That’s what it’s supposed to do. Get the viral load down and the CD4 count up.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says a little too softly for Patrick’s taste, eyes more Bambi than shark now. “I just hoped that it’d be higher, you know?”

Patrick snorts, giving Jonny a self-deprecating smile. “You got that on me. I didn’t even know what the normal CD4 count was before going in there. I should probably do some reading of my own.” There’s the stack of papers but Patrick just isn’t ready for that yet.

Jonny reaches out, squeezing the back of Patrick’s neck. “You should, but you’ve also got me. We’re a team, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says with a sigh, leaning into the touch.

He can’t really stand anyone but Jonny touching him at the moment. It’s probably because at least Jonny knows what he’s getting into. Jonny knows that there’s risk, that Patrick is a time bomb. Everybody else doesn’t. He can’t have Duncs hug him or Schmaltzy lick his neck on a dare. He just can’t. He knows now that statistically, the chance of an infection through normal non sexual contact is pretty much non-existent, but the simple thought of it makes him still nauseous. Jonny is different though. Jonny’s touch feels good, and warm, grounding to the core. Sometimes Patrick thinks he never wants Jonny to stop touching him. He just wants to climb on Jonny’s back like a Koala and-

“So what did he prescribe you?” Jonny asks, dropping his hand.

Mentally pulling a face at the loss of contact, Patrick tries to recall the names of the drugs he’s supposed to take twice a day now, regularly, same time very day, morning and evening. Apparently routine is key.

“What, don’t tell me any of those pharmaceutical tongue twister names are going to tell you anything,” he says instead of answering, giving Jonny a doubtful look. “Be honest, did you secretly go to med school while I wasn’t paying attention?”

Jonny blushes, clenching his jaw. “No,” he says a little tightly. “But I’d still like to know. He’s starting you on HAART though, right? Like in general?”

“Yeah, he is,” Patrick says. “I’ve got the prescriptions in the kitchen, I can show you later.”

HAART, as Patrick has learned (he’s learned a lot today), is short for ‘highly active antiretroviral therapy’. He has already forgotten most of the details, but in the end it’s pretty much just a cocktail of a couple (three in Patrick’s case) different types of medications that are supposed to work together and reduce Patrick’s viral load to an undetectable level as well as allow his CD4 count, to return to a point where he isn’t advised against sharing the same ten meter radius with someone who might have been in contact with someone who has the flu.

Jonny nods, looking at least satisfied with that. He even picks up his fork, as if he’s going to eat some of the food before it has cooled down to a point of being in desperate need of the microwave. “You are going to fill them in? There’s a 24 hours pharmacy at Franklin’s with self-checkout.”

Patrick laughs a little, flicking Jonny’s thigh fondly. Sometimes it’s like Jonny can read his mind.

“I guess I am,” he says, scooping up a forkful of rice. “Wanna come?”

 

***

 

Dr. Terry had told Patrick beforehand that there were likely to be side effects during the first one to two weeks afterstarting the meds but Patrick had (maybe foolishly) hoped that the worst would pass him by, that he’d get lucky. He doesn’t. It hits him full blast on the second day of treatment. He wakes up with a rash on his stomach that has him dread stripping down in front of other people. It’s red and itchy and spreads from his belly button almost up to his left nipple, and _god_ , it itches. According to Dr. Terry it should recede again within the next three days so Patrick grits his teeth, figuring he’ll just change with his back to the other guys for practice and when they play the Canes the next day.

Then he wakes up in the middle of the night, after tossing and turning and finally falling into a fitful sleep, with another rash on his back that he can’t even reach to put a soothing cooling ointment on without calling Jonny to come over because it just itches so badly and he just can’t stand it any longer. Jonny of course is comes over only muttering complaints under his breath, which are mostly aimed at the rash itself for appearing in the middle of the night and disturbing his sleep. It’s a little bit funny, except that Patrick doesn’t have more than a weak, grateful smile in him.

The rashes aren’t the worst though. The worst is the diarrhea. You can play with a rash or two, you can’t play when you are literally shitting your pants. Even Jonny would agree to that, and that fucking nut job tries to play with everything, even if he won’t admit to it. He admits that Patrick looks like death though, when he comes to check on Patrick after the Canes game, having found some sort of recipe that’s supposed to help calm your digestive system, especially when you’re having some issues down there.

Patrick is definitely having issues, and he fucking hates how much help he needs but thankfully Jonny never makes him ask for it after that first night that Patrick had to call them because of the rashes. He’s just there, doing what he does, allowing Patrick to feel miserable, reminding him whenever he needs it that this isn’t forever, that it’s to help Patrick get better in the long run, to keep this disease in check. It helps a little, but sometimes Patrick is just too busy feeling like shit _now_ to think much about next week, let alone years from now.

When he decides to drag his pillow and blanket to his still rug-less bathroom floor to camp out the night there, all he can think about how he had felt fine without these damn pills and the only reason he’s taking them is because of some weird numbers that don’t mean shit to him.

What means something to him, is the number of games he’s missing, the number of points the Hawks are racking up and the number of times he lies to his parents about why he’s sick again, why he’s not pushing through like his dad says he should. What means something to him, is that he misses the Hawks road trip to Philadelphia and Carolina, and that the first thing that he thinks about is how he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feed himself for the three days that Jonny won’t be stopping by every day to take care of him like the overbearing angel he is.

It’s a blessing when the diarrhea pretty much stops the day the Hawks beat the Flyers 5 to 3, but the fatigue stays, just like the sleep issues. By the time the Hawks are back and Dr. Terry checks on him under Jonny’s watchful eyes, it apparently hasn’t eased up enough for everyone’s liking, and it’s decided that some adjustments have to be made to his medication. Patrick barely listens. He knows it’s important, technically, but he’s just so tired and he knows Jonny will pay attention for him and recap everything for him later, after they’ve napped on the couch together.

Jonny has convinced Dr. Terry to wait to tell the Hawks about Patrick’s diagnosis until they’ve gotten Patrick on his proper meds and back onto the ice, so they have visible proof of Patrick being able to play despite his HIV status. Th

at’s the big plan apparently, and Patrick is really glad that Jonny is handling it, talking to Dr. Terry, to Brisson, and the team.

He even talks to Patrick’s mom on the phone, assuring her that she doesn’t have to come down to take care of Patrick, that he’s got it covered. It’s a bittersweet victory when she agrees not to come. Patrick loves his mom and he’s man enough to admit that he generally wants his mom when he’s sick because moms make everything better, but at the same time, he really doesn’t want her here for this. He doesn’t know here he’d start explaining. What do you open with? Hey mom I’m gay and also HIV positive?

Jonny says that Patrick doesn’t owe anyone the truth about his diagnosis, that it’s his thing to tell, and that a bad stomach bug is good enough of an explanation. It appears to be for the team anyway (there’s a bunch of guys texting Patrick get well soon stuff, which is pretty damn touching since he hasn’t been absent for _that_ long yet).

To Jonny, Patrick’s mom coming down doesn’t seem like much of a problem at all. He doesn’t even seem too concerned with explaining away the number of pills Patrick chugs in a day, mumbling something about how they could be antibiotics or whatever. It’s frustrating how much Jonny doesn’t see the issue, but in the end there’s not really an argument to be won. Patrick doesn’t want his family to know, so they can’t come, not now, not when he’s in this weird fucking adjustment period where meds and Virus mess with his system to a point where a simple two hour period of uninterrupted sleep seems like the holy grail.

At least the new medication cocktail seems to be agreeing better with Patrick’s body and while he still feels a little sluggish, he’s able to join team practice again on the 15th where Q nods, with a satisfied scowl on his face, making Patrick grin brightly, because fuck yeah, he’s back in the line-up for their game against the Kings.

“It’s good to have you back, buddy,” Duncs says, slapping Patrick on the shoulder when he gears up with them for warm-ups and Brinksy even hugs him, which- Patrick isn’t entirely cool with that but he guesses it’s fine through the pads.

“It’s good to _be_ back,” Patrick counters giving Duncs a wide grin. “Trust me I’d rather be out here with you guys than camping out in my bathroom.”

“I bet,” Duncs says with a snort, adjusting his helmet strap. “Spending your birthday sick would have been pretty shit.”

It’s only then that Patrick gets what it being the 16th means. It means only two more days before it’s the 19th. The 19th of November. Patrick blinks.

Duncs raises an eyebrow. “Forgot your own birthday? Dude, that’s rough.”

All Patrick can do is nod numbly. Earning himself a concerned look from Jonny who’s been busy having some kind of captainly talk with the rookies on the other side of the locker room.

 _Why didn’t you tell me it was almost my birthday?_ he mouthes reproachfully at Jonny who only looks more irritated, which- Fair, they are on opposite sides of the room, but still. It’s- Patrick loves his birthday, has loved it as a kid and never really grew out of it no matter how much more candles appeared on his cake. It’s something he always looks forward to in the weeks leading up to it, planning his family’s visit, bugging Jonny about his gift giving skills, all that. This year Patrick hasn’t done any of that. He isn’t even sure if his family is coming down. He was so caught up in this virus thing, busy feeling miserable and missing hockey, he didn’t-

 _What?_ Jonny mouthes back causing Patrick to throw up his hands in frustration. Jonny for sure hasn’t forgotten Patrick’s birthday, Patrick just knows he hasn’t, so why hasn’t that fucker reminded Patrick, dropped some kind of hint? He’s so damn overbearing in every other aspect, why not when it comes to this?

 _You are the worst mother hen,_ Patrick mouthes, pointing at Jonny for good measure, earning himself yet another comically irritated look from Jonny, who doesn’t even bother to mouth anything in return, just turns his attention back to the rookies.

“You two need a messenger pigeon or something?” Seabs very rudely interrupts him, looking at Patrick amusedly . “Cause Duncs knows a guy who can hook you up.”

“Girl,” Duncs corrects, giving Patrick a smile that shows off his latest set off implants. “And she’s amazing.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Patrick grumbles, and this time he manages to evade the ensuing hug, coming from Seabs this time.

 

***

 

“You know, I forgot that it’s my birthday in three days,” Patrick says when Jonny drops him off at his place that night after the game. They won, not by Patrick’s doing, but still, a win is a win. Three points are three points. And no one noticed a trainer sneaking a couple of pills into Patrick’s hand during second intermission, providing him with his evening dosage. “Can you believe that?”

“That it’s your birthday or that you forgot?” Jonny asks after a moment of fiddling with the heating, then leaning back in his seat.

He’s parked on the side of the street in front of Patrick’s building. It’s not exactly a parking spot but they aren’t really in the way of traffic so Patrick guesses it’s fine. They’ve been driving each other around a lot since this whole thing started and Patrick has been enjoying it more than he should probably, these quiet moments in one of their cars. There’s something different about having conversations in cars Patrick feels like, even if you aren’t driving, but he’s never been able to quite put his fingers on why. Maybe it’s the confined space, encompassing you, the rest of the world behind windows and metal.

“Because I can believe both,” Jonny continues, throwing Patrick a glance. “You’ve been having a rough time with a lot on your plate. It makes sense for shit to get left behind.”

“Yea, but it’s my birthday,” Patrick says with a sigh, absently scratching at his arm where just a day ago rash used to be. “It’s my thirtieth birthday and I don’t even know if my family is coming. I don’t know if there’ll be a party, if I’m supposed to throw it, or if the team is. I don’t know anything, it’s like-” He makes a helpless gesture, biting his lip. “I don’t know, I’ve let my life get away from me.”

“Patrick, you’ve been fighting an illness,” Jonny says, brows furrowed, like he doesn’t quite understand what Patrick’s issue is. But that’s Jonny for you, single minded. Once he has a goal, he sticks to that, everything else can just disappear into background. “And yeah, it’s tough right now and you don’t have much space for anything else but it’s not like it’s going to be like this forever. Things are looking better aren’t they? You are back on the ice, you slept four hours last night and you haven’t gotten any new rashes. That’s good. And by now your viral load has probably dropped below 10,000.”

Slumping down in his seat, Patrick rubs his hands over his face. Jonny is right of course, all those things are objectively great, Patrick gets that, and he’s really fucking thrilled about the rashes being gone and being able to sleep a little better, not to forget his digestive system getting a grip again, but for all that to come at the price of Patrick _forgetting_ about something he’s enjoyed since he we as old enough to understand what it meant, to lose track of it, that’s just- It doesn’t feel right.? The medication, giving him a good life, a livable life for as long as possible. That’s the point of all this, isn’t it?

He’s probably overreacting, and intellectually he knows these first few weeks aren’t representative of how things are going to go, but fuck, this isn’t living his life. This is shit. Patrick doesn’t want his mind to be so preoccupied by an illness that he forgets the things that bring him joy in life. Sure, he hasn’t actually _missed_ his birthday but he’s missed his window for looking forward to it, and that has always been half the fun for Patrick.

“That’s not what this is about,” Patrick mumbles, looking at Jonny sadly. “I’m just- I guess I’m just sad that I missed it. The anticipation and everything. And now I don’t even know if there’s anything to look forward to.”

“Of course there is,” Jonny says after a short pause, frowning at Patrick. “Just because you forgot about your birthday doesn’t mean everyone else did.” He sounds a little insulted. “I’ve talked to your family and they’d love to come down but we haven’t finalized any plans yet because I didn’t know when you’d be feeling better, and you’ve been so adamant about not having your mom come here, I didn’t want to overthrow that. But I’m sure we can do some last minute planning.”

“You’ve been talking to my family?” Patrick asks, a little dumbfounded. “About my birthday?”

“Of course,” Jonny repeats, a tiny irritated line appearing by his mouth. “It’s your birthday. I didn’t forget about it and neither did they. And the boys haven’t either. We figured that if you were feeling up for it, we could go out after our game against the Wild on Sunday and celebrate into your birthday. Just because you spend a week locked in your condo, doesn’t mean you stopped existing for the rest of us.”

“You were there pretty much every day,” Patrick mumbles, tugging his feet up against the dashboard, something Jonny promptly slaps his knee for, glaring.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t just mean me,” Jonny starts when Patrick has put his feet down again. “You know that the boys didn’t forget about you, they texted you. Brinksy even wanted to make you a card. They aren’t used to you missing games. I’m the one who always misses at least five games a season, not you.”

“You haven’t missed any this season yet,” Patrick points out, his chest already feeling a little lighter.

It’s nice to hear Jonny say all these things, even if he’s right and Patrick technically already knew them all. It feels good to have himself be validated out loud like that, and it makes Patrick feel a little less bad about forgetting his own birthday. He may not be very good at caring about that stuff right now, but he’s got a bunch of people who are, and while only one of those know what is really going on with Patrick, the rest is still there, ready for Patrick when he emerges from his little _getting-diagnosed-with-HIV-and-starting-medication hole_.

“No, but the season is still young,” Jonny says, a crooked, self-deprecating smile on his lips. “You’re gonna beat me in points again, just you wait.”

“Shouldn’t you tell me I’ll never beat you,” Patrick asks, eyeing Jonny curiously. “You know, to spark my competive side and shit?”

Jonny shrugs. “I’m not really feeling competitive right now. I just want my best friend back out there.”

“Oh.” A blush creeps on Patrick’s cheeks. Jonny isn’t even looking at him, just staring off into traffic. “Yeah,” Patrick says after a moment. “I want that too. Being back out there with you.”

“Like Q is going to put us on the same line,” Jonny says, turning back to give Patrick’s shoulder a fist bump. “It’s not 2010 anymore.”

“No,” Patrick agrees, studying Jonny’s face. “It’s really not. I would have never forgotten my birthday in 2010.”

“You were also still sleeping with girls in 2010,” Jonny points out, causing Patrick let out a surprised cackle.

“Oh, god, I was, wasn’t I?” He shakes his head, then glancing at Jonny, he adds: “Not just girls though.”

Jonny smiles, looking down at his lap. “No. Not just girls.”

They had stopped sleeping with each other some time during their sophomore season, but then 2010 and their amazing playoff run had happened, climaxing in that one game in Philly that, of all their cup finals, will always be the most prominent in Patrick’s mind. There’s nothing that ever came quite close to that overtime goal, the rush of joy and fear, and the screaming on the top of his lungs as they were all waiting, hoping, _praying_ for the good goal signal. Except maybe hugging Jonny so tightly after, right there on the ice, the two of them clinging to each other like they were afraid the scene around them would disintegrate the second they let go of each other.

“I love you,” Jonny had whispered into Patrick’s ear, again and again. “I love you so fucking much.”

And Patrick had wanted to kiss him, so he had. Not there on the ice, of course not, but later, dragging Jonny away from the rest of their celebrating team, into some dark corner. Nothing has made their win feel more real than that kiss, not even Patrick fucking into Jonny later that same night back in their Philadelphia hotel room.

“We should really win another Cup,” Patrick finds himself saying, and for a few second Jonny just looks at him, eyes dark and unreadable. Distantly Patrick wonders what Jonny might see in his, if he’s any more of an open book than Jonny is.

“We should yeah,” Jonny says then, quietly, softly, before clearing his throat, giving Patrick’s thigh a friendly slap. “Now go home. And call your family, plan that birthday party. You’ve got two more days. That’s plenty of time for plenty of anticipation.”

“Aye, aye, Capitan,” Patrick laughs, both relieved and disappointed by the tonal change. “I’m gonna have the best fucking birthday, just you wait. You better have a dope ass gift ready.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head over what kind of gift I have ready or not,” Jonny says with a snort, unlocking the doors of his car for Patrick to step out. “And don’t forget to take your meds tomorrow.”

“Yes, mom,” Patrick says, rolling his eyes, as he swings his legs out of the car.

Jonny’s “Don’t call me that,” in protest gets muffled by the door falling shut behind Patrick only a moment later.

 

***

 

Patrick does call his parents on skype the next morning and while his mother is overjoyed to hear from him (commenting on him having gotten thinner), his father mostly has things to say about Patrick’s game last night, despite Patrick pointing out several times that he still isn’t 100% and it’d be nice if his dad would lay off the error analysis for later. He eventually agrees when Patrick’s mother asks him to stop twice, a point at which Patrick is mentally already pretty done with the call, despite them not having gotten to what he actual wanted to talk about. His birthday.

It’s his mom who brings it up then, saying that now that he is feeling better again, they’d love to come down for his birthday. She’d cook his favorite meal and all his sisters would come too, because they all scheduled vacation days for Patrick’s birthday like they do every year, something that never fails to make Patrick a little teary eyed. He left home so early, is living in another state now, hundreds of miles away from them. It’s always nice to see the effort his entire family makes to still include him and keep their family as close as they can.

“Don’t mind dad,” Erica tells him when he calls her later, recapping the call with their parents to her when she asks if he already talked to them. “He’s just being dad. You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says quietly, because he does know.

His father has always been very involved in Patrick’s career and Patrick loves him to the moon and back, is so fucking grateful for how hard he worked to give Patrick the opportunities that got him where he is, but he’s almost thirty, and sometimes it’s a bit much with _how_ involved his dad tries to be. It’s just that Patrick is bad at saying no, at standing up to his dad.

“I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t showed up here last week to give me a lecture about being a man and getting myself together,” Patrick mumbles giving a small shrug.

Erica gives him a sympathetic smile. Intellectually she gets it, probably, but their dad has never been with his daughters the way he’s with Patrick.

“Well, you’ve got Jonny to thank for the fact that he hasn’t,” Erica says, reaching for her bottle of coke. “He talked to mom and dad a couple of times.” She pauses, wiggling her eyebrows. “Mom kept gushing about how good of a _friend_ Jonny is for taking care of sick you.”

“Well, he is,” Patrick answers slowly, confused by her intonation. “Jonny _is_ a great friend.” Patrick doesn’t think there are many people lucky enough to have someone like Jonny as their friend. Someone who gets HIV tested with them, who organizes doctor appointments, who takes on a care taker role without complaint, cooks and cleans, and just- “What are you getting at? Jonny acting like a mom? Because I’ll have you know, he doesn’t like being called that,” Patrick points out, squinting at his sister who lets out a loud bark of laughter at his words.

“Is mom the new daddy? Did I miss something?” she says with a grin, but waves him off when Patrick opens his mouth to ask what the fuck she means by that. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, big bro. Jonny is a great friend, I’ve got no doubt about it. Now, your birthday, are you excited yet?” She smiles widely “Ready to be thirty? Why am I even asking, you’ve been ready to be thirty since we watched ’13 going on 30’. You loved that movie.”

“It’s a great movie,” Patrick says, a little defensively.

Whatever, Erica loves the movie too. She’s always been a big Jennifer Garner fan. And Patrick, well, he just likes the whole best friends finding love with each other after so many years story. There’s something comforting about the idea of having known the right person all along.

“It sure is,” Erica says, taking a sip from her coke. “Let’s talk birthday though. What do you think Jacks and Jess are getting you this year? If you guess right, I’ll even confirm it.”

 

***

 

It helps a lot to get Patrick into birthday mood to play this game with his sisters. It’s not something they’ve done every year but often enough for it to have a warm familiarity that makes Patrick smile at his phone every time he gets a ‘nope’ in return after posting a gift guess in their group chat. It’s pretty damn fun to come up with increasingly ridiculous guesses, partially because Jonny always gets such an incredulous look on his face when Patrick tells him he guessed something like frog-shaped pedal boat, or a trip to the agriculture museum in Munich, Germany. It’s sort of hilarious how much Jonny doesn’t get the appeal in guessing not for the sake of getting to the answer but just having fun.

“It’s because you don’t know what fun is,” Patrick tells Jonny while Jonny is busy doing god knows what on his laptop while Patrick is sorting his pills into one of these pill dispensers for the whole week.

Patrick tries not to think about how his grandfather used to have one of these before he passed away, filled with pills for his blood pressure, and heart. “And because you are jealous that I’m not trying to guess what you got me,” he continues, shooting Jonny a dazzling smile that goes completely unnoticed as Jonny is still frowning at his laptop screen.

“Yeah, you got me, I’m super jealous,” Jonny says, not even turning to look at Patrick, sounding distracted. "Also Dr. Terry said you haven’t answered his email from yesterday evening.” Then, of course, Jonny turns to give Patrick a stern look. “You should read your doctor’s emails, they are important.”

Patrick pulls a face. He did read the email. He read it when it came yesterday and he’s thought about answering all morning while he was avoiding Dr. Terry at practice, but it had been so much more pleasant to focus on the gift game with his sisters, and then bugging Jonny about it.

Agreeing with Dr. Terry on a date for their talk with management is not Patrick’s idea of pleasant. It’s something he’d very much like to avoid all together but that isn’t happening. Both Dr. Terry and Brisson think that while Patrick is probably not legally required to tell anything, he still should for reasons of transparency and shit. Patrick isn’t really interested in the reasons, he just- He doesn’t want to do it. He wants it to have been done already, to already be post revealing-your-horrible-infectious-disease meeting.

“I know it’s important,” Patrick sighs, dropping down on the couch next to Jonny. “I just don’t want to do it.”

Jonny shoots him a glance. “You also didn’t want to get tested.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, tugging at his sleeve. “And see what that got me. More shit that I don’t want to do.”

Jonny looks at him. It’s not quite a glare but it’s not far away from it either. Patrick raises his hands in defeat.

“I know, I know, it’s all in the spirit of making it past forty,” he grumbles. “Cheers to that, but forgive me for not being thrilled about planning this stupid talk for the day after my birthday because apparently waiting the entirety of our Atlantic road trip will be too long for doc’s taste.”

“The day after your birthday?” Jonny asks, brows furrowed. “But that’s in two days. When are they testing your CD4 count and viral load again? That was supposed to happen before then.”

“Well, yeah,” Patrick says, miserably. “That’s tonight after the game, so. I guess you’ll have to start my party without me. Also I was supposed to pick up my family from the airport then but now I’ll have to call them a cab, and they’ll ask why and-”

“I’ll pick them up,” Jonny says without hesitation, and Patrick can practically see the planning gears turning in Jonny’s head. “You’ll have your appointment with Dr. Terry after the game, I drive to the airport to pick up your parents and tell them the guys kidnapped you for your party, which Duncs and Seabs can finish preparing with the rookies. It’ll be fine and you know Duncs’ house is amazing for parties. We are going all out for your thirtieth, don’t worry.” With a smile, he reaches out to squeeze Patrick’s neck. “It’ll be amazing. And yeah, the talk with management is gonna suck, but you have Dr. Terry on your side, and Brisson, and me-”

He halts suddenly, looking back at his computer where a calendar sheet is pulled up. “Fuck, I promised to take Lindsey to Starved Rock State Park for hiking that day.” He pulls a face. “She’s not gonna like getting cancelled on again.”

“Oh,” Patrick says eloquently, glancing at the ‘Hike with Lindsey’ on Jonny’s calendar.

He thinks this is pretty much the first time he’s heard Jonny talk about her since this whole thing started and it’s a bit disconcerting because Jonny has been spending so much time with Patrick. Patrick has no clue when he’d even had time to spend time with his girlfriend, with games and practice and his captainly duties going on at the same time.

“You guys are still fighting?” he asks carefully, chewing on his lips.

Jonny shrugs. “She’s unsatisfied with-” He makes a vague gesture. “Where we are going. Relationship-wise.”

“And where are you going?” Patrick asks, more than a little thankful for the change of topic but also _curious_.

“I don’t know,” Jonny says with a sigh, clapping his laptop shut. “She says it’s been six years. Like that means anything.”

“I’m guessing it means, you know,” Patrick says hesitantly, glancing at Jonny from the side. “Getting married and shit. It’s how things go. You date, you get married, have kids. All that.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, shooting Patrick a grim look. “All that. Now do me a favor, and confirm with Dr. Terry. I’ve got a call to make.”

And just like that Jonny is walking off into the kitchen, Patrick only catching the beginning of “Hey, Lindsey, listen about the 20th…”

 

***

 

Lindsey is mad, that much Jonny lets seep through but not much more, even when Patrick hesitantly suggests that if Jonny wants to, he could also go hiking with Lindsey, since Patrick is a big boy and all that but Jonny just scoffs, telling him that the meeting is where he wants to be which Patrick has a hard time believing because if _Patrick_ doesn’t even want to be a that meeting, why would anyone else?

But that’s Jonny for you, an immovable object, once he’s set his mind on something. He decided on going to that meeting with Patrick so he is going to, because apparently plans with the girlfriend hold less importance in Jonny’s head, although it’d undoubtedly be more enjoyable. Not that Jonny is willing to have any kind of discussion about his decision making, apart from asking an annoyed yet strangely vulnerable “do you not want me to come?” when Patrick brings it up again, during the second intermission of their game against the Wild.

Patrick does, but that’s not the point. Not that Jonny is willing to discuss that either.

“You’ve too been spending a lot of time together lately,” Duncs points out when Patrick arrives at his house after getting all his tests done.

He’d made the mistake of asking if Jonny was there yet first after forcing himself to hug Duncs in greeting. He loves the guy but hugging is just- It’s not a thing for Patrick, right now. But given that this is a birthday party for him, there’ll probably be a bunch of that.

“Have we?” Patrick asks innocently, taking the beer that is offered to him (someone drew a 30 on the cap with some neon sharpie. It’s pretty cute).

“Reminds me of when you were rookies,” Duncs says, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. “Except there’s less shouting.”

“Well,” Patrick holds up his bottle. “We’re old men now. Just like you and Seabs.”

Duncs clanks his bottle against Patrick’s, taking a big gulp out of it before saying: “I don’t think you two have ever been like me and Seabs.”

And well. Unless Seabs and Duncs had a steamy ‘rookies with benefits’ arrangement in their first year, that is probably correct. The question is just how Duncs knows that.

True to form though, this year’s rookies spot Patrick right that moment, rushing over to greet him and promptly try to convince him to play a round of pool which Patrick only gets out of when Jonny appears like Patrick’s very own, personal, stony faced saving grace, asking Patrick for a private talk.

 

***

 

They briefly discuss the test results (good, not great, but better, an upward trend, good response to the meds, yadda yadda) before Patrick gets to ask Jonny about how picking up Patrick’s family went. The answer is apparently ‘good, not great’ to that too, which makes Patrick giggle a bit because Jonny explaining how he accidentally parked in the wrong parking garage (not the one closest to the complex Patrick’s family was set to arrive at) and had Patrick’s father explain to him the whole walk to the car how you are supposed to navigate airport traffic, is just great. Patrick’s dad had undoubtedly been nice and fatherly about it, but Patrick has seen first-hand how mad the signposting at O’Hare drives Jonny, even now after all these years. It’s one of Patrick’s favorite things if he’s being honest. It’s hilarious.

Just like the party. It’s fun. Not quite in the way parties used to be in Patrick’s early twenties, but it’s still great. He’s got his team around him (even Q shows up for a while). Many of the guys have brought their wives or girlfriends and a couple of friends, and there aren’t that many people that are there without Patrick having at least met them once before, which Patrick is glad for.

He does the Kaner shuffle, convinces Jonny to do his moon walk and at some point, someone even pulls out a karaoke machine so of course Patrick gets roped into singing another rendition of Free Falling, because he did so well each and every of the previous times (he did, Jonny is just a hater). And when the clock strikes midnight and Patrick turns officially thirty, he’s drunk enough to not mind all the hugs and cheek kisses he gets, instead relishing in the open display of affection.

He loves these people so much, and he’s so fucking lucky that he’s been allowed to build his life here in Chicago, become part of something bigger, of an ever-changing group that has stayed the same in its core. Patrick has always felt like he belonged to them, despite them not knowing his biggest secret. Or well, Patrick doesn’t know if being gay still qualifies as the big secret. Maybe that’s the HIV now. Both are things that the team doesn’t know about, and as much as Patrick loves them, he can’t imagine ever telling them.

Or he can, but it’s not- It’s not a good scene in his head. Not everyone is like Jonny, willing to put in research and getting informed and just being a liberal, accepting hippie dude. Some of these guys are conservative, Patrick knows that. Many, like Patrick himself, come from sort of religious backgrounds and being told that their teammate is not only gay but also has what they probably only know as AIDS, the gay people disease, probably wouldn’t go over well.

“You think they’d still be here,” Patrick asks Jonny a little gloomily when Jonny finds him sitting on the floor of Duncs’ laundry room, leaning against the dryer with a bottle of what he’s pretty sure is apple cider between his legs. “If they knew, I mean? About the-” He gestures to himself. “Me stuff?”

“The me stuff,” Jonny echoes, tilting his head a little.

He looks good the way he’s standing there. Dark washed jeans that hug his thighs just right, matched with a white Henley that Patrick would bet is really soft to the touch. Of course Jonny is leaving the buttons open, so with the sleeves pushed up, it’s actually showing quite a bit of skin. Not as much as a normal T-Shirt, but- Well. It looks good, is the thing. And Patrick is sitting on the floor with a plastic crown on his head that says 30, complete with pink fuzz and bling and all.

“Mhm,” Patrick hums, watching how Jonny carefully sits down next to him, leaning against the washing machine. “The me being a thirty year old faggot with AIDS who’s gonna die alone stuff.”

He probably shouldn’t have said it like that. He grimaces. That’s not- Patrick doesn’t call himself a faggot. He knows it’s not right. It’s derogatory and wrong and a slur and all that. But that’s also kind of the point. He’s feeling sad about himself, and it’s an undeniable truth that if he was straight, he probably wouldn’t be HIV positive right now. He’d be married by now, maybe have a kid, and even if he didn’t, he’d always use condoms with his hook ups because even an idiot like him knows not to get a one night stand pregnant.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, fixing Patrick with those judgy eyes of his. “None of that is true, you know that. Except the being thirty part.”

Shaking his head, Patrick sighs offering the bottle of cider to Jonny who declines silently. “But I am. I’m gay. And I’m- I’ve got AIDS, almost. I’ve got the- You know. It’s like-” A giggle escapes him. “It’s like when you’re pregnant. You call it fetus, fetus, fetus, and then it comes out and it’s a baby, but you also had the baby the entire time because the entire time the fetus was going to turn into a baby, right? It’s an AIDS baby.” He presses a hand on his stomach. “You think they’d be here if they knew that? I doubt it.”

He looks back up at Jonny then, who’s staring at him with a whirlwind of emotions on his face. There’s some anger, some pain, some sadness, all mixed together, and god, Jonny cares so much, and Patrick can tell that his words are breaking Jonny’s heart but that doesn’t make them not true, and living in a fantasy world won’t do any of them any good.

“Patrick, you have _HIV_ ,” Jonny says quietly, wrapping an arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “And with modern medication and treatment options it might never turn into AIDS if you’re lucky.” Patrick wants to laugh. He hasn’t felt particularly lucky in the past month. “And yeah, maybe not all of these people that are here right now would care to try to understand this shit. Maybe a few of them would need some time to come around, maybe some a little longer than ‘some’ time, but it’s not fair of you to just declare that they wouldn’t want to be your friends just because of a disease you have and who you choose to have sex with.”

Patrick shakes his head, leaning into Jonny’s embrace, resting his head on Jonny’s shoulder. “Most people aren’t as good as you think they are.”

“Most people aren’t as bad as you think they are, either,” Jonny says quietly, readjusting Patrick’s head position so he can take off his crown and place it in Patrick’s lap instead. It had probably been poking Jonny in the neck, now that Patrick thinks about it. “And you won’t die alone.”

“You are really naive,” Patrick says softly, turning the crown in his hands as Jonny cards his fingers through Patrick’s curls. “You know that, right?”

“Why?” Jonny asks, giving Patrick’s scalp a mild, pleasant scratch. “Because I don’t think all people are inherently bad and unaccepting? Or because I believe you won’t be alone?”

Letting his eyes flutter shut, Patrick sighs. “Both.”

“Why?” Jonny asks again, this time so quietly, it almost gets covered by the sound of a glass shattering somewhere in the distance.

“Because I’ve been alone for a _decade_ , Jonny,” Patrick says, keeping his eyes closed, allowing himself to turn in his head and breathe in the scent of Jonny’s neck. “You think having HIV will shift that into my favor? That I’ll somehow be able to actually date while still in the NHL and having HIV? Have people line up to date me? To have a sexless relationship with a guy who isn’t even out but has a chronic, infectious disease? I don’t think there are many people in the market for that. Do you?”

“I think,” Jonny says after a few long moments of silence, his fingers momentarily stilling before resuming their rhythm in Patrick’s hair. “That you pick what you believe are deal breakers and recite them like it’s a done deal because like that you don’t have to think about putting yourself out there, because that’d be scary, and you’ve had enough scares in your life for the next twenty years.”

Opening his eyes Patrick tilts his head, so he can look at Jonny. Jonny looks deep in thought but upon Patrick moving, his eyes come back into focus and he meets Patrick’s gaze.

“So you are saying HIV wouldn’t 

be a deal breaker for you when it comes to a relationship?” Patrick asks, searching Jonny’ face. For what he doesn’t know.

Jonny, cheeks flushed from alcohol, licks his lips. “I’m here aren’t, I?”

Huffing out a breath, Patrick shakes his head. “Yeah, but you’re my friend. I’m talking about- About a relationship. About sex and kissing and all that shit. Would you just give all that up? To be with someone like me.”

“You know you can still kiss people and have sex with them in a safe and risk free way,” Jonny points out, looking away. “And yeah, I would. Sex is great, but it’s not that important.”

 _Not that important,_ Pat scoffs internally. He doesn’t know what planet has been living on the past thirty years but it must have been a different one than everyone else. Sex is important, and if Jonny doesn’t know that, then he hasn’t been paying attention to the world they live in.

“Well, not everyone is you, Jonny,” Patrick say with a frown, reaching for the apple cider bottle, taking a big sip out of it.

By some miracle it’s still half full. This time, Jonny doesn’t say anything, just looks at Patrick for a few long, long second, dark eyes as unreadable as ever, before he turns away, shaking his head.

“You are a real idiot, Patrick Kane,” he says, letting his head thud back against Duncs’ laundry machine. “I hope you know that.”

Eyeing the crown in his hands, Patrick nods. “I’ve been told.” Then, giggling a little as he puts the crown back onto his head. He adds: “Mostly by you.”

Jonny doesn’t laugh, just pats Patrick’s thigh, keeping his eyes closed. “Maybe you should think about that, eh?”

“Maybe,” Patrick hums, allowing himself to let his eyes flutter shut yet again.

Maybe he will think about that. Tomorrow though. Tomorrow seems like a good day to think about things. Right now Patrick would just like Jonny to touch his hair again.

 

***

 

The actual day of Patrick’s birthday passes in a bit of a blur. He wakes up only slightly hungover but still with considerable blurriness when it comes to the past night that he isn’t quite able to clear up all on his own. Not that he is on his own. His sisters appear at his place bright and early, causing Patrick to have to hide his pill dispenser hastily. They crush him with hugs and happy birthday wishes barely allowing him to get a word in or tell them to keep it down a little because his head is killing him.

Jacquie promptly steals his crown, Jessica disappears to do god knows what in Patrick’s kitchen, and Erica goes about interrogating him about what gifts he’s gotten until now. It’s a bit ridiculous because Patrick doesn’t really exchange gifts with his friends. Usually it’s something people chip in to together, like the time they bought Seabs a jet ski. It’s nothing the birthday person couldn’t afford to buy themselves, but it’s the act of gifting that it’s about which he tells Erica when she pulls a face at him explaining that the amazing party his friends threw him was their gift.

Well, except Jonny. Jonny is different. He’s Jonny so just like Patrick got him some rare herb seeds for his rooftop garden on his last birthday, Jonny got him a Disneyland voucher that Patrick is pretty sure Jonny made himself, for a visit for two at the end of February. Because Jonny apparently knows that Patrick has always wanted to visit Disneyland in winter. He’s been there during the summer, but during the season there had never been time and just-

He just never went, but now Jonny has picked a date, and that means it’s going to happen. It won’t just be an idea, a maybe, a someday, that’s not how Jonny rolls.

Patrick is already giddy at the thought of Jonny pulling a disapproving face at all the candy Patrick is going to buy.

When he tells Erica that she laughs out loud, while Jessica goes to open the door for his parents who just rang the doorbell.

“Do you ever listen to yourself, big bro?” she asks, eyes twinkling as she looks over the voucher Jonny made for a few more seconds before Patrick snatches it away again. “The thing you look forward to the most is Jonny disapproving of your life choices?”

“He’s so lame, it’s hilarious,” Patrick defends himself, taking the voucher and putting it in a drawer just in time for his mom and dad walk into the room.

“You can be a real idiot, Patty,” Erica says and Patrick hums at the familiarity of it.

 

***

 

The night before the meeting Patrick barely sleeps and it has almost nothing to do with his parents staying in his guest bedroom and his subsequent worry they’ll somehow end up in his bathroom instead of the guest bathroom and find his pills. It’s why he gets up in the middle of the night though, after trying and failing to find sleep in yet another position, and gets the pill dispenser along with all the pill bottles and carries them into his bedroom where he puts them into the drawer of his nightstand. His mom has the tendency to meddle, not just with his life but with his things. She likes to check his kitchen cabinets when she’s in Chicago, likes rearranging them or help him reorganize his closet. It’s just her way of caring, he knows that, but he hopes his nightstand will be off limits.

It’s a good thing to blame his nervousness on, and it’s only half a lie. He _is_ nervous about his parents staying a couple of days, but he’s ten times more nervous about having to discuss his diagnosis with management tomorrow morning.

He gets now why Jonny had been so insistent on getting Dr. Terry to promise to be on Patrick’s side from the very beginning, because right now, it’s the only thing that’s keeping Patrick a little bit sane. He has a doctor on his side, a medical professional, that’s gotta count for something. Brisson had warned Patrick that even with that, things might go south and it could be that he’ll have to sit out a few games until management is sure what to do. They’ll do anything to prevent that of course, which is why Patrick’s lawyer Ms. Jackson will be there too, but an _active_ NHL player with HIV is pretty much unprecedented for all they know, so anything might happen.

It’s a little like they are rallying troupes for war, Patrick feels like, and it’s awful. He thought the nausea he had felt before going into his meeting about the rape allegations all these years ago had been bad, but the dizziness he feels now gets pretty damn close.

Although now that Patrick thinks about it, there are probably more cases of professional hockey players who were accused of some sort of assault than there are players with HIV. To think that he got out of the rape one without getting barred from games and might not with this one is pretty damn fucked up.

He’s distracted all the way through having breakfast with his parents after taking his meds in the privacy of his room before getting dressed. His thoughts keep circling around the meeting and his mom asks him twice if he didn’t sleep well, since he’s being so quiet.

He leaves the house with his suit hidden in his gym bag, only changing at Jonny’s where they wait for Brisson and Ms. Jackson to meet them. They don’t have to wait for long and soon enough they are all on the way to the Blackhawks management offices. Brisson looks calm and determined like he always does, Ms Jackson confident and friendly (although Patrick notices her hesitating a moment before shaking his hand), and Jonny, well Jonny looks like he does before a big game. Jaw tight, eyes focused, a little wild around the edges. It’s familiar in a comforting way that the other two people can’t provide, despite Patrick knowing and trusting them too. It’s just that Jonny is Jonny, and ever since he made that promise, holding Patrick in his arms on his couch, whispering that he’d be there every step of the way, he has been. And Patrick is so grateful for that.

“It’s going to be fine,” Jonny promises for what feels like the hundredth time as they walk down the corridor to the conference room that they’d been told the meeting would be in.

It’s one of the bigger ones, so Patrick guesses legal will be there, maybe PR too, although Patrick isn’t quite sure about that. No one has questioned so far why Jonny is here, why he’s also dressed in one of his good game day suits, and maybe Patrick should think about why, but right now, he’s just glad that he’s here, that he’s allowed to be here, and isn’t excluded from this meeting that technically doesn’t concern him. Except that maybe it does, because he’s the team Captain, or something but if that was a reason, Jonny would sit in on meetings guys have with management all the time, and Patrick knows that he doesn’t. Although he probably would if someone asked him to.

“Stop promising that,” Patrick whispers, his throat incredibly dry, as he wipes his hands on his suit pants. “You can’t know that. They might bar me from playing.”

“Then we’ll sue,” Jonny says, eyes gleaming with anger.

Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t want to sue the Hawks, I just want to play.”

And he also really doesn’t want to start crying in front of management at the chance of losing hockey like he did on Jonny’s couch after seeing all his tests show a positive result. Rationally, he knows that the long term health consequences are the worst thing to come of this infection, but right now the worst is its impact on hockey, at least for Patrick. It’s not just a job, it’s his life, his first true love, the only one he can have, the one thing he has given up everything for. Losing it would be like losing a part of him.

“Let’s see how it goes first, boys,” Brisson says, giving them both a determined nod. “We’ll do our best but keep in mind that this isn’t just a new situation for us, but also for them, for the league as a whole. No one quite knows how to handle it yet. Dr. Terry informed management yesterday that a player on the roster has been diagnosed with HIV, and this morning we have confirmed that it is you, Patrick. All under an agreement of confidentiality of course.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, taking in a deep breath, before throwing a glance at Jonny. He manages to crack a weak smile. “Last chance to bail, buddy. Better take it.”

Jonny looks down on him, eyes crinkling the slightest bit. “I’m good right where I am.” He bumps his shoulder against Patrick’s.

“Yeah.” Patrick clears his throat, cheeks a little bit flush. “Yeah, me too.”

“Alright then,” Brisson says, nodding at them before turning around and opening the door.

 

***

 

Inside the conference room there’s Stan, as well as McDonough, and a couple of people Patrick recognizes to be part of their legal team. There’s Dr. Costas and Dr. Hiotis and Dr. Terry. And to Patrick’s surprise, Q appears to be there as well, standing by the window with his arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath his moustache. He does nod at Patrick though, which Patrick decides to take as a good sign, if there are any.

He sits down with Jonny on his left and Brisson on his right side, almost immediately reaching for the glass of water that is being offered on the table. It feels heavenly in his dry throat but the relief only lasts for a few seconds, until a silence falls over the room, once everyone has found their seats.

Someone clears their throat.

“This meeting is about to start, so unconcerned parties should leave the room now,” a skinny woman from legal in a beige pantsuit says. She’s not looking at Jonny but the man next to her does, and so do Stan and a couple of others.

“Jonathan is here for moral support, out of explicit wishes from my client,” Brisson says, as calm as ever. “As all of us he has signed a confidentiality agreement.”

Patrick shoots Jonny a glance. Jonny hadn’t said anything about having to sign any agreements.

“Alright then,” the skinny lady says, throwing a glance around the room. “Let’s begin.”

“Yesterday morning the front office has been informed by our medical staff, represented today by Dr. Terry, Dr. Costas, and Dr. Hiotis, that one of our players has been diagnosed to be HIV positive.” She makes a pointed pause. “We are here now to discuss the handling of this situation with the involved parties. Since there are no official NHL specific guidelines as to how to proceed in such a matter, we have send an anonymous inquiry to the commissioner’s office, requesting such guidelines. Of course the name of the player or our organization has not been disclosed.”

 _The commissioner’s office_. Patrick swallows. Bettman, they are getting fucking Bettman involved in this. The guy that didn’t let them go to the Olympics, who’s hated by pretty much every player (and Jonny in particular since the lockout), is going to decide over Patrick’s fate. If he hadn’t felt sick before, he sure as hell does now.

“There are several things that need to be discussed,” the lady from legal continues, tugging a strand of black curly hair behind her ear. Patrick thinks her name might be Liza. “First and foremost, the risk of transmission an HIV positive athlete in a contact sport poses to other competing parties as well as medical personnel. But also the effects of extreme physical exertion on the HIV positive individual, as well as the impact a permanently compromised health situation has on the ability to perform the job the HIV positive individual is being paid to do.”

God, Patrick already hates this, this entire conversation and the way they are referring to him. _The HIV positive individual_. They all know this is about him, why not talk about him like a person who’s there, not some- some hypothetical event that could come upon them? He’s here, goddamn it, sitting right in front of them. Hearing them talk like this, refer to him by the virus’ name, makes him feel like that’s all he is, a disease. He’s not Patrick Kane, first overall pick 2007, one of the two players who took this dying franchise on his back and carried it to three damn cups, who revitalized it, who did everything, giving blood and sweat and broken bones. He’s just a disease, just an _HIV positive individual._

“Can I say something first?” Q suddenly cuts from his spot on the side, stroking his moustache as he waits for the nod from the legal lady before addressing Patrick.

“Go ahead Mr Quenneville,” the lady allows and Q turns to Patrick.

“I’d like to say that I –and the coaching staff- have been sorry to hear about this, Kaner,” Q says, causing Patrick blink in surprise. He hadn’t really expected Q to be here, and sure as hell not for him to look at Patrick with so much kindness in his usually so stern eyes. “But we’ll be glad to continue to work with you while taking this new circumstances into consideration.” He turns back to the legal lady. “Kaner has been a great asset to this team for years and as far as I’m concerned he still is. Virus or no virus.”

 _Wow_. Patrick did not see that coming. He hasn’t- Q is going all in before all of this has even started, not waiting for any facts or presentations, he just- He’s on Patrick’s side, declaring it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and it kinda gets to Patrick. He briefly wonders if Jonny talked to Q too, and he wants to ask, but he barely manages a grateful smile though before the legal lady clears her throat.

“Thank you Mr. Quenneville,” she says formally. “Your openness and inclusivity is appreciated. Now, whether or not the coaching staff is willing to continue to keep working with Mr. Kane is irrelevant at this point of our discussion. What needs to be determined is whether or not Mr. Kane participating as an active player for our team puts him, his teammates, or opposing players at risk of HIV infection through Mr. Kane. Dr. Hiotis?”

Patrick swallows. At least they are referring to him by name now.

Dr. Hiotis nods, taking her que. He shuffles a few papers around before looking up, addressing the room. “According to the CDC, HIV can only be transmitted through the exchange of bodily fluids. Most commonly through unprotected sexual behavior, as well as needle or syringe use.”

 _Great_. Patrick looks down at his lap, feeling the tips of his ears grow red. All of these people are looking at him now, probably wonder which it was for him. If he recklessly fucked around, or if he’s got a drug problem he somehow kept secret. He wouldn’t be the first player to have one of these, but it’s still not a very flattering idea. Not that the truth is any better, because Patrick _has_ participated in sexually reckless behavior, there is no way around that.

“Quoting the CDC website,” Dr. Hiotis continues: “Only certain body fluids—blood, semen, pre-seminal fluid, rectal fluids, vaginal fluids, and breast milk—from a person who has HIV, can transmit HIV. These fluids must come in contact with a mucous membrane or damaged tissue or be directly injected into the bloodstream, from a needle or syringe, for transmission to occur. Mucous membranes are found inside the rectum, vagina, penis, and mouth.”

“Oh, this is awful,” Patrick mumbles quietly, grimacing at Jonny who shoots him a sympathetic look, squeezing his knee under the table.

Now everyone is thinking about Patrick’s semen, or anal fluids or him getting in contact with, or-

It’s not just awful, it’s fucking mortifying and Patrick is pretty sure he’s as red as a fire engine by now. Damn his pale fucking skin.

“In the US, HIV is most commonly transmitted through anal or vaginal sex,” Dr. Terry cuts in, giving Patrick a nod. “Both which are unlikely to pose a risk in regards of Mr. Kane’s profession as an athlete.”

Dr. Hiotis nods. “Correct. What we are most concerned with is blood borne transmission. Namely via contact between broken skin, wounds, or mucous membranes and HIV-infected blood or blood-contaminated body fluids.”

The legal lady nods, folding her hands. “Hockey is a physical contact spot. We see players bleed on the ice at least every few games. The CDC has verified a transmission of HIV from a bloody fist fight where a nasal hemorrhage bled into a laceration on the forehead of an, until then, HIV negative individual. Which is why as a precaution until we have an official protocol to follow, we believe it would be wisest to-”

“Yeah, but when does that happen?” Jonny suddenly speaks up, voice firm and determined.

It’s his captain voice, the one he uses on officials when he’s bargaining in the Hawks’ favor. Well, when he’s not busy yelling at them.

All eyes snap to Jonny. No one probably expected Jonny to actually utter a word in this discussion.

This is not a player conversation, it’s _about_ a player and often enough, players aren’t included in these kinds of discussions. If anything, they sit by and let their –their what? Handlers?- talk over them. But Jonny is sitting there, in his expensive suit, staring back at these people. His eyes aren’t warm right now, they are cold. They remind Patrick of the time when people used to describe them as dead shark eyes. Except that this shark definitely isn’t dead.

“You are talking about fights,” Jonny says sharply. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick can see the corner of Q’s mouth curl upwards. “Bloody fist fights. Do any of you know how many fights Patrick has been in his career?” He raises his eyebrows. None of them say anything, and Jonny’s lip twitches. “Patrick, how many career games have you played in the NHL?”

Patrick blinks, for a second taken aback by Jonny directly addressing him. His heart is beating to his throat, mind still somewhat hung up on what the legal lady had started say. She wants to bar him from playing, he can tell. She thinks it’s a risk and judging by some of the faces surrounding them, she’s not the only one.

“I- 840,” Patrick answers, once he’s found his voice, wringing his hands under the table.

Jonny nods. “That’s a lot of games. And how many fights have you been in?”

Patrick swallows, biting his lip. He gets where Jonny is going with this, and it’s good, it’s a good strategy. But it’d be even better if the answer was zero.

“One,” he tells the room.

“One,” Ms. Jackson repeats, her long nails clacking against the table. “One fight in 840 games. That’s a percentage of 0,1% games in which Patrick Kane participated in a fight, that, as you’ve said, might potentially put another player in danger. But how big is that danger really?” She makes a pregnant pause. “I think we can all agree that American football is a sport where physical contact is as frequent, if not more, than in hockey, correct?”

This time she doesn’t wait for any replies. “I’d like to quote the article ‘Bleeding injuries in professional football: estimating the risk for HIV transmission’ from the Annals of Internal Medicine 1995, by Brown LS, Drotman DP, Chu A, Brown CL, Knowlan D. It says: Measuring the frequency of bleeding injuries during the course of a National Football League regular season and taking into account the prevalence of HIV among college men, and the rate of HIV transmission of exposed health care workers, the overall risk of HIV transmission in professional football was estimated to be 1 per 85 million game contacts.”

 _1 per 85 Million_ , Patrick repeats in his head. That’s- That’s a low number. That’s really fucking low, and Jonny is right, Patrick doesn’t fight. He fucked up that one time, but otherwise? He barely even gets checked because he’s learned from the beginning that if he wanted to compete at his weight and size, he’d have to be slippery when it comes to checks and whatnot. So this might- This strategy of theirs, it might actually work.

He throws a hopeful glance at Jonny, but Jonny’s eyes are laser focused on the lady from legal.

“0,1%. 1 per 85 million,” Brisson says. “These are very low numbers. One could even argue that the risk of getting infected with HIV _off_ the ice, is greater for the players than through Patrick Kane on the ice. Studies have shown that the baseline risk for HIV infections for professional athletes is actually higher than the one of non-athletes due to often times riskier lifestyles.”

“A risky lifestyle your client participated in?” The lady from legal says, and Patrick can see Jonny grit his teeth, while his own face flushes in shame.

Now they aren’t just thinking about it, they are talking about it too. Great.

“How my client got infected is not relevant right now,” Brisson answers calmly. “We are discussing at what risk letting Patrick Kane continue to play, would put the other players on the ice. Given the low numbers we’ve presented you with, we’d argue that the risk is almost non-existent.”

“Almost,” the lady says. “The health of our player is of utmost importance to us and even the smallest risk is a risk we cannot take. One fight is one fight, but who’s to say he won’t get into one tomorrow, or the game after that? Even if he promised not to fight, another player, unaware of Mr. Kane’s status might initiate a fight. Mr. Kane is carrying an incurable virus inside of him and risking the exposure of other people to his blood is-”

“Do you know how fighting works in hockey?” Jonny snaps, eyes fiery. “Because it doesn’t _just_ happen. You don’t get jumped in an alley. There are no unwilling participants.”

“Jonathan-” Stan tries, but Jonny ignores him.

“There’s a code. You drop the gloves. If you want to fight someone and they don’t want to fight you, they just don’t,” Jonny explains heatedly. “No one goes after you if you don’t want to fight. They might call you names, but that’s it. If Patrick doesn’t want to fight, no one is going to fight him, end of story. The bloody fistfight with blood dripping into open wounds, that isn’t going to happen, it’s just not.”

“I’d like to add,” Dr. Terry suddenly speaks up in the silence that falls over the room after Jonny’s little outburst. “That we are monitoring the viral load in Mr. Kane’s blood very closely and since he’s started treatment it has dropped by over 90%. As of yesterday we have reached an undetectable viral load. According to studies, the lower the viral load detectable, the lower the risk of transmission. My opinion as a medical professional who has worked in hockey for numerous years is that given his viral load, past behavior, and the nature of injuries commonly sustained on the ice, the risk of Mr. Kane transmitting the virus to someone else is not only extremely low, but highly unlikely. There are no medical reasons for why he shouldn’t be allowed to play.”

Patrick sort of wants to kiss him. He shoots a quick grin at Jonny, who’s giving him a small smile, and a knee squeeze in return. This isn’t over yet, and maybe that’s a good thing. Patrick had went into this hoping it’d be over as quickly as possible, but the lady from legal had wanted to bar Patrick three minutes into the meeting, and yet, they are still debating.

“School Board of Nassau County, Florida versus Arline, 1987,” Ms Jackson says and while Patrick has no idea what that means, it is said with weight behind it, like it matters, causing Patrick’s heartrate to spike. “I’m sure you know what I’m referring to Mrs. Bennett.”

Patrick doesn’t, but judging by the way the legal lady (Mrs. Bennett apparently) presses her lips together, she certainly does.

“American courts thus far have refused to consider an HIV positive status as grounds for exclusion from athletic competition. In fact, courts, as stated in the case previously mentioned, have given great leeway to physicians in determining the suitability of HIV-infected athletes for competition. Without sufficient medical reason, an HIV-positive athlete cannot be excluded from a sport.” She makes another pause, a small smile playing on her lips. “According to Dr. Terry, the head physician of the Chicago Blackhawks organization, the risk Patrick Kane poses to other players, should not be a reason to bar him from doing the job he is being paid to do.”

“I’d also like to note, that continuing his exercise regime and level of physical fitness, at his current HIV related values, can only be beneficiary for Mr Kane,” Dr. Costas adds, looking as bored as ever. “And as long as sanitary guidelines that have been in place for years, such as considering a bloody uniform a health hazard and the rule to remove a bleeding player from play until the wound is covered, are followed, there isn’t any fathomable risk that I can confidently name in favor of barring Mr. Kane from playing.”

Mrs Bennett clears her throat, exchanging some whispered words with the man next to her, then: “Be that as it may,” she says. “I think we can all agree that the public outcry, not just from fans but other teams, if it were come to light that we let Mr. Kane play without informing other teams about his status, would be enormous. Frankly, we would be making us liable, for all kinds of lawsuits if we let him play and this... situation, became public knowledge.”

Patrick’s heart sinks. They let him play while he was under investigation for rape, despite the public outcry. But apparently having HIV might actually be worse.

 

***

 

“It’s not right,” Jonny says, pacing up and down the corridor while Ms. Jackson and Brisson, finish up with the legal people inside.

Patrick, having sacked down in one of the plastic chairs outside, just shakes his head, exhaling slowly.

“Jonny, it is what it is,” he mumbles.

“But it’s not right,” Jonny insists, that wild look still in his eyes.

Patrick sighs. He sits up a little straighter, reaching out to catch Jonny by the hand, stilling him in his impatient pacing.

“Jonny,” he says tiredly, feeling like he’s coming off a 2 hour biking session. “I get to keep playing for now. That’s a good thing, you hear me? That’s a good thing.”

That’s what they had agreed to after another 20 minutes of back and forth, medical opinions, legal this and legal that, PR chirping in, and Jonny losing his composure once more, asking Mrs Bennett if she even knows how vital Patrick is to the team. Patrick had blushed at that, even more so when Q had agreed, and Stan had carefully pointed out that the organization owed a lot to Patrick. It’s a good feeling, to hear himself acknowledged like that but at the same time it had Patrick feel guilty, because if three cups bail him out of this, what would happen to a guy with Patrick’s diagnosis but less than three Cups to his name? It’s not fair but Patrick had kept his mouth shut and in the end, the front office had conceded by giving Q permission to keep playing Patrick, under strict safety measures that Patrick is to follow.

He’s not allowed to, under any circumstances, get into a fight. He has to remove himself from play and contact to other players if he so much as thinks he might have a bleeding scratch somewhere. He has to get tested at least every three months to check on his viral load and the team is to implement HIV tests during their regular check-ups for _all_ players, asking each of them individually, and not waiting for initiative from the player, which Patrick actually thinks is a good thing.

The most important part, the one Jonny is angry about, is that the Hawks reserved the right to bar Patrick from play as soon as the commissioner’s office has issued an official statement about how to proceed in the case of an HIV positive player. Apparently the Hawks aren’t willing to fight any decision that is made upstairs and if the decision bars players like Patrick from the NHL then that is how it’s going to be.

Oh, and if any word gets out about Patrick’s status, the Hawks will deny any knowledge of the diagnosis, a statement that Patrick will have to validate if it ever comes to that. The message is clear -if this gets out, you’re on your own, no matter how much you’ve done for us.

Patrick had agreed.

Jonny had gotten pissed.

“They are fucking cowards,” Jonny spits angrily, gesturing to the conference room. “Hypocrites. They have us participate in AIDS rallies and wear shirts that we support this or that cause, let us go to children hospitals and all that shit, talk about inclusivity, but as soon as one of their own is sick, they let you fucking stand in the rain. Like you are suddenly some second class person, just because you have a disease, it’s bullshit, it’s fucking bullshit.”

“Jonny, please,” Patrick says, tugging at Jonny’s sleeve. “Can’t we just be happy that I still get to play? For now? That I’m not of the team effective immediately? Can we- Can we celebrate that fucking victory instead of being-” He gestures to Jonny. “Angry? I don’t- I don’t want to be angry right now, Jonny. I just want things to go back to normal. I want to think about hockey, about how we can actually make the playoffs this year, I want to- Get a hang of my medication names and figure out how to survive my parents’ visit without them finding out about this. I want- I want to beat the Caps tomorrow and I want to get Froyo at that place we found last year. Is that too much to ask?”

Jonny’s face softens halfway through Patrick’s tirade and he actually sits down next to Patrick, although Patrick can tell by the tension in his thighs that he’s still itching to go back in that room and tell them where to stick it. He doesn’t. Instead he squeezes Patrick’s knee like he had during the meeting.

“I’m sorry, Pat,” he says, rubbing circles with his thumb. “It’s not too much to ask. We can do all that. I’ll take you to the Froyo place right now and if you want to I’ll even come home to you as buffer when your dad gets too much again, yeah? We can just-” He makes a vague gesture. “Put a lid on this for now.”

“Thank you,” Patrick says honestly, knocking his knee against Jonny’s. “For that, and for in there. You didn’t have to do that.”

To that Jonny just snorts, shaking his head. “Yes, I did.”

 

***

 

They are in Nashville, eleven days later, when Bettman makes his statement. It’s the 1st of December, world’s AIDs awareness day, and Patrick is pretty damn sure that isn’t a coincidence.

The statement comes in the form of an interview. Some AIDS awareness organization talking with Bettman about the dangers of HIV and the risk of transmission for professional athletes. Patrick reads it with Jonny on the bed next to him, VEEP running muted on TV. Most of what is being said in the interview, he’s already heard during his meeting with the Hawks’ front office. They talk about the probability of infection through fighting, about health concerns for the infected themselves, and of course, whether or not an HIV positive player should be allowed to play.

To Patrick’s surprise, Bettman actually gives a concrete answer. It’s the same he has apparently given in an interview from 1997.

"You can't stop someone from engaging in their employment simply because they are HIV-positive, and that includes professional athletes."

He also says that it has been mandatory for years now for NHL teams to at least offer their players HIV tests and counselling about that topic. Patrick doesn’t think he’s ever been asked whether or not he wanted an HIV test and Jonny hasn’t either, but in the same paragraph Bettman concedes that the NHL has never felt it to be their responsibility to check if the teams were following these instructions.

It reminds Patrick a bit of the concussion protocol. It’s there, it’s in the rules, but its actual enforcement is an entirely different story. Jonny and his concussion history bear testimony to that.

Mandatory testing without the player asking for it would have to be agreed to by the NHLPA though, and that’s something that has yet to be discussed. Privacy and safety concerns need to be addressed.

There’s more too, a statement from a retired player about the AIDS panic in 1991 when a woman had died of AIDS briefly after claiming that she had unprotected sex with over 20 NHLers, as well as some quotes from players all over the league sprinkled in, some saying that they would feel uncomfortable or scared playing against or with an HIV positive player, others saying that if you play good, clean hockey, you need to know as much about the opposing player’s health as you need to know about the health of someone you share a cab with.

That one is from Braden Holtby and Patrick makes a mental note to thank the guy the next time they meet. Holtby may not know that he’d be indirectly talking about Patrick, but he’d done so anyway, and Patrick is thankful or that. And if he walks up to him to say that he liked what Holtby said for the article, well, that shouldn’t be too conspicuous.

Except that Jonny would never in a million years do that, because it would be conspicuous. He can try and tell himself it wouldn’t be, but at the end of the day, Holtby and whoever overheard would wonder why Patrick and no one else chose to thank him for the comment. Of course he could just comment, because he’s a decent person, but- But he won’t. He can’t. The idea of it is nice though.

“This is good,” Jonny says, once they are both done reading, wrapping an arm around Patrick, and Patrick hums.

Yeah, it’s good. It means he gets to keep playing, at least as long as his blood work comes back satisfactory, as long as he keeps taking his meds, makes sure to keep this quiet, and still brings it on the ice.

It’s a weight lifted off his chest, but at the same time, it has brought the topic of HIV and AIDS into the spotlight again.

People are talking about it. It’s discussed in the locker room and sometimes even in interviews.

Brinksy asks Patrick if he should do it, when Dr. Terry gives them all a big speech over how each and every player has the opportunity to get tested for it at any time, and Patrick has to fight not too tense too much, wondering for a split second why Brinksy chose to ask _him_ out of all people. Then he remembers that he’s always been an attachment figure for the rookies and Brinksy hasn’t quite grown out of that yet. Plus, if Patrick is being honest, the guy might play damn good hockey, and is a good buddy, but off the ice, he isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

“I don’t know, Brinksy,” Patrick says, making sure to keep his tone nonchalant. “Do you have sex with a lot of different people?”

Brinksy grins. “Yeeah. Chicks love me.”

Rolling his eyes a little, Patrick snorts. “Sure, they do. You use protection?”

Brinksy shrugs. “I mean, most of them are on the pill anyway.”

Both Jonny and Seabs apparently got similar answers from some of the guys they talked to, according to their reports at the end of the day, so together with Duncs and Dr. Terry they decide on having a bit of Sex Ed with the boys. Or Jonny decides to, mostly. He looks like he’s going to have an aneurism when he suggests it, but he’s also convinced that it’s important (which it is), and that as a Captain he has a responsibility to his guys.

Patrick is pretty sure the job description of being an NHL captain classically does not include teaching your teammates how to not get Syphilis, Hepatitis, and all the other fun stuff, but it is what it is, and the truth is, it’s pretty admirable, Patrick thinks. Jonny is so dedicated and genuinely concerned, it’s really heartwarming because if Patrick had had someone hammer this shit into his head like Jonny is doing with this group of very embarrassed and awkward looking guys right now, then maybe he wouldn’t have been as much of an idiot and gotten himself into this situation.

He’s also pretty sure that at least Seabs is suspecting something, which has Patrick a little on edge for all of December, until New Year’s, when a very drunken Jonny giggles into his ear about how Seabs apparently thought that _Jonny_ has gotten diagnosed with HIV and had been very teary eyed about the whole thing, offering Jonny his support and everything.

It’s very sweet and it makes Patrick wonder if maybe, more people than just Jonny and apparently Braden Holtby would be okay with an HIV positive player. He’s not going to test it out by going around and telling people, no way, but it’s a good feeling to think that maybe, _maybe_ it’d not be a complete disaster. Not with everyone but some.

He tells Jonny that and Jonny smiles the brightest of smiles, wrapping his arms around Patrick just as the countdown starts and people around them start yelling out numbers.

“See, told you not everyone is as bad as you think,” he says, smiling from ear to ear. He looks goofy like this. And it’s not made better by the teeny tiny plastic cylinder someone put on his head.

Patrick smiles up at him. “Maybe. Maybe I was wrong about the everyone part.”

“Maybe,” Jonny echoes, tugging at a curl behind Patrick’s ear. “Maybe you are wrong about other things too then”

“Like what?” Patrick asks, flicking his fingers against the dumb little cylinder.

He has to get on his tiptoes for that, causing his chest to bump into Jonny’s which is- It’s close. But it’s okay. Patrick has gotten better at letting other people touch him again, more so after Dr. Terry had confirmed yet again that there has never been a documented case of sweat or saliva transmission. But Jonny, Jonny and his touch, that’s still the best. He actually seeks it out, actively craves it and Jonny is always so damn willing to give, it’s a bit maddening.

Sometimes Patrick wonders what Lindsey thinks about how much Jonny and him have been hanging out since October. She hasn’t been around much. Patrick has seen her maybe twice in all these months, once at family skate and once when he’d been over at Jonny’s and she had dropped by to look for one of her scarves.

She isn’t with them tonight either, and maybe that’s a little weird, that Jonny is celebrating the new year with Patrick in his arms instead of his girlfriend, but Jonny seems to be happy and so is Patrick, strangely enough, despite the hellish nightmare that the past three months had been.

He’s happy.

Happier even than he had been in September and that- That’s something he’ll have to think about.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It’s movie night again, this week at Jonny’s place. Patrick has brought a selection off three movies ( _Love, Actually,_ because Christmas may be almost a month in the past but it’s still a damn good movie, _Imagine Me and You_ , because Jonny has a serious thing for Lena Headey, and _Lady Bird_ , because Jessica gifted it to Patrick for Christmas and he’d assured her he’d watch it soon ) and Jonny promised to cook, which he’s currently doing as Patrick toes off his boots and hangs up his coat and scarf.

He rung the doorbell to alert Jonny to his presence but used the key that Jonny had given him shortly after New Year’s. It’s easier this way, coming in handy in moments like this so Jonny doesn’t have to interrupt his cooking to let Patrick in.

Patrick makes sure to put his shoes on the shoe matt he had bullied Jonny into buying some time last year, and for once, it’s actually pretty tidy, only Jonny’s Jack Wolfskin boots standing there in a small puddle of melted snow.

At first Patrick doesn’t know why it makes him halt, but when he hangs up his coat and finds an unusual number of coat hangers empty, it begins to dawn on him.

Padding into the kitchen on socked feet, Patrick pays special attention to the sideboard by the mirror, where Jonny always drops all his mail, next to a picture of him and Lindsey from their Hawaii vacation years ago that she made him put up there for reasons Patrick has already forgotten. That picture had been there for years, but now there’s another frame in its place, showing Jonny’s mom with the stray cat Jonny’s parent adopted this winter after it showed up on their porch demanding to be fed.

When Jonny had flown home for Christmas he had send Patrick a number of pictures of him and the cat. That adorable little thing apparently liked to be carried around in the hood of Jonny’s sweaters, which- Yeah. Patrick totally saved those pictures. Sue him. He might not be a pet guy himself but he can admit they are pretty damn adorable some times.

“Did you and Lindsey break up?” Patrick asks once he’s in the kitchen, causing Jonny to turn around with his eyebrows raised, spatula in hand.

It’s a strange thought, Jonny being single again. He hasn’t been for years. Patrick remembers his discomfort with the whole thing in the beginning. Lindsey had been so different from Jonny, this hot party girl, who had modelled for Playboy and everything. Everyone had said they would have expected Patrick to show up with a girl like her. But he’d warmed up to her, sort of. She’d been Jonny’s girl and that had been good, Jonny had seemed happy with her. Not so much lately, but Patrick hasn’t really seen her.

“Uh, yeah,” Jonny says, like it doesn’t matter at all, giving Patrick a nonchalant smile. “I’ll be done in ten minutes tops. Want to tell me which movies I get to pick from tonight?”

Patrick stares at him. He doesn’t-

Jonny and Lindsey are broken up. They are over. It’s- Jonny doesn’t have a girlfriend anymore, he isn’t in a relationship anymore, he just said ‘uh yeah’ like you say when someone asks you if you’d like more potatoes not when asked about a possible break up with your girlfriend of over six years. It’s bizarre.

“Why?” Patrick says, a little dumbfounded.

Jonny squints at him. “Because it’s my turn to pick the movie.”

“Not that, you dick,” Patrick snaps, gesturing helplessly. “Lindsey. Why are you- Why? I mean- And when?”

“Some time before Christmas, I don’t know,” Jonny says after a short pause, turning back to his cooking. “You know we’ve been having problems.”

“Yeah but-” Patrick flails, tugging at Jonny’s elbow. “You’ve been having problems for a year, why just give up, I mean- You- You loved her.”

Jonny, making an annoyed noise, turns back around as he crosses his arms, looking down at Patrick. “There was no _giving up_ , Patrick. And yeah, I used to loved her, but not like- It didn’t work anymore, okay? Is that alright with you? Am I allowed to break up with my girlfriend?”

“So you broke up with her?” Patrick presses, and he has no fucking idea why he’s so pushy about this, but- But. Jonny is his best friend, they’ve been inseparable for months now, Jonny has helped Patrick through those first awful months, he’s done everything for and with Patrick and then he goes and doesn’t even tell Patrick about his breakup, it’s just-

It feels wrong, even if Patrick can’t quite put his finger on the why.

“It was mutual,” Jonny says, tone clipped. “Can I go back to the dumplings now, or?”

“Why did you break up?” Patrick asks, because he can’t not, and because asking _why didn’t you tell me?_ Feels like a little bit too much.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, then, shaking his head, he turns around, turning down the stove, before going back to facing Patrick. “Because it didn’t work anymore. We wanted different things and she didn’t like my priorities, so we ended it.”

“Your priorities?” Patrick repeats, brows furrowing. Jonny’s number one priority has always been hockey, that hasn’t changed, so what- “Me?” He asks, looking at Jonny with wide eyes. “Because you were spending so much time with me?”

Jonny shrugs.

 _That’s a yes_ , Patrick notes.

“I told her that you needed me, and she got mad that I didn’t tell her why,” Jonny says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, as if it doesn’t matter to him at all that his best friend’s inability to cope with his disease ruined his own relationship.

Jonny must see that train of thought on Patrick’s face though, because he shakes his head, taking a step closer and taking Patrick’s face in his hands.

“Don’t even go there; it’s not your fault. I don’t blame you, so you don’t blame you, alright?”

“But-” Patrick opens his mouth, getting immediately cut off again by Jonny.

“No. No but, Pat,” he says sternly, looking at Patrick intensely. “It would have ended anyway. Me spending so much more time at yours, just sped things up. Sometimes relationships just run their course. That’s all there is to it.” Then, after a short pause, he adds: “She also wanted a baby, so.”

Patrick gapes at him.

“I know,” Jonny laughs, squeezing Patrick’s neck once before stepping back to the stove. “And I didn’t. So she set me an Ultimatum. And I don’t do those.”

Patrick is still busy staring at Jonny. _A baby_. Lindsey wanted to make a baby with Jonny. A tiny little human. Jonny could be a dad right now, or be on the way of becoming one. They are at that age, so many of their friends have already done it or are currently doing it. Jonny and Patrick have always been kind of behind on that whole life plan thing, Patrick for different reasons than Jonny. Jonny, apparently out of his own choice, which-

“Don’t you want a family?” Patrick asks, feeling a tiny little bit irrationally angry at Jonny for it.

Here he is, breaking up with a woman that he said he loved, who had been willing to have a baby with him. Jonny could have had a family and he gave it up for- For what?

It just seems so unfair that Jonny is just nonchalantly giving up what Patrick can never have. He won’t have a baby, never, not with the virus in his blood, and he won’t ever have a partner like Jonny had had either because he still can’t do that to someone, subject them to the risk that being with Patrick would undeniably pose. But Jonny had it all, and he just-

“Of course I want a family, Patrick,” Jonny says sounding mildly bemused. “But it has to be the right time, the right person. Having a baby now, with Lindsey? That wouldn’t have been right. Not for me or her, or the baby.”

“Yeah, but-” Patrick says helplessly, flailing his arms a little. “You just- You’ve been together forever. Aren’t you- Aren’t you lonely?”

Jonny throws a glance over his shoulder, catching Patrick’s eyes for a moment. He raises his eyebrows. “Do I look lonely to you?”

Patrick swats his hand at him. “Not like that. I don’t count.”

At that Jonny actually turns around again, and to Patrick’s surprise, he looks vaguely pissed off.

“Why not?” he asks, taking a step forward.

Patrick stares up at him, a shiver going through him. “Because I’m me. I’ve always been here.”

That isn’t true, not entirely anyway. After they had ended things in their second year (or after _Patrick_ had ended them), Patrick had given Jonny some space, and for a while there it had been a bit of a balance act, trying to figure out how to be friends again minus the sex component. But they had worked it out and then Jonny had found Lindsey and- Well. But now Patrick is sick, and Lindsey is gone and Jonny is looking at Patrick like he’s the biggest idiot on earth.

“Yeah, Patrick,” Jonny says then, voice softer than Patrick had expected. “So have I.”

He turns back to the stove then and something about the tense line in Jonny’s neck tells Patrick that maybe any more questions won’t be appreciated. He has more, lots of them, but he swallows them all, instead goes to get the movies he forgot in the hallway, and tries not to look at the space where Lindsey’s sneakers used to stand. Or think about how it makes him feel that it’s his shoes standing next to Jonny’s now.

It’s not like that. He’s always been here.

 

***

 

The thing is, nothing really changes with Lindsey out of the picture, or at least it doesn’t seem to. Jonny is still Jonny, the same Jonny he’s always been, with his dumb laugh and crinkly eyes and inability to land a proper chirp to save his life.

Patrick doesn’t really know why that surprises him. After all, Jonny hadn’t changed all that much when he’d gotten together with Lindsey, or at least not much more than would be normal over the course of time. It’s probably his self-sufficiency. Jonny doesn’t get lonely, Jonny makes do. Jonny just continues on with being Jonny because Jonny is fine on his own. Not that he is alone all that much, since he’s hanging out with Patrick pretty much all the time, which is- It’s nice, even now that Patrick has sort of a grip on this whole handling his HIV diagnosis.

Sure, he still cries about it sometimes when he thinks about what would happen if the public or his mom found out, but that’s just how things are. He still feels like he’s playing some act when he takes his pull dispenser out of his bag on a road trip and he still has trouble coming to terms with that he knows what words like CD4 count mean.

But it’s good, considering how he’d felt in October. He’s playing, the Hawks are doing good, and Jonny cooks dinner for him almost every day of the week. In exchange, Patrick takes over making breakfast because no matter how much Jonny tries, he’s still useless in the mornings and it’s not like Patrick minds. He’s always been an early riser and now that he has to take his meds on time, well.

Jonny says if it was him, he’d just set an alarm, take the meds and go back to sleep, but Patrick likes being up early and he likes giving something back to Jonny. Jonny never asked him to and he’d probably get that crazy look in his eyes if Patrick told him that Patrick feels like he owes him. So he gets up early, takes his meds and gets into his car to drive over to Jonny’s, where he lets himself in with his keys, and starts making breakfast. Or sometimes, all he has to do is get out of bed and pad over into the kitchen, because more often than not, they both crash at whatever place they’ve been staying that night. It’s just easier that way, with them driving to and from practice together, it’s just- It’s nice. It’s good.

It’s also something else, apparently. Or so Erica informs him during one of their skype conversations:

“Where are you?” is the first thing she asks him when his webcam has loaded. She squints at him and his surrounding, probably confused by the color of Jonny’s couch. It’s a textured brown, unlike Patrick’s black one. Jonny also has a bunch of more pillows because that’s basically his idea of home decorating. Not that Patrick can talk. He doesn’t even have a bathroom rug.

“At Jonny’s,” he tells her, with a shrug. “Jonny’s at the farmer’s market.” So Patrick has practically the whole place to himself, which is pretty great. He might get to vacuum the living room rug, without Jonny bitching that he can do it himself, only to never do it. “What’s up? How are things with Vincent?”

“At Jonny’s, huh?” she says, raising her eyebrows, ignoring Patrick’s question. “Again?”

“What do you mean again?” Patrick asks, frowning at her grin. “We are friends it’s not like that’s news to you.”

“It’s not, it’s not,” Erica says quickly, but there’s something mischievous glistening in her eyes that has Patrick squint back at her.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, Patty, all good. Vincent is fine, I’m fine, everyone is fine,” she gives him a cheeky grin. “How’s Jonny?”

“Fine?” Patrick says slowly, eyeing her carefully.

“I bet he is,” Erica laughs and okay, this is getting ridiculous. Patrick stares at her.

“What?” he demands, glaring at her, doing his best Jonny impression. “What’s so fucking funny? Don’t you know that little sisters who laugh at older brother’s get put on the naughty list?”

That only makes Erica cackle more. “First of all,” she wheezes. “That threat has stopped working on me when I turned eight. Second of all, I’m not laughing at you, big bro. I’m happy for you.”

“For being at Jonny’s?” Patrick says, irritated, ignoring the feeling of realization that is dawning on him in the back of his mind.

“Well, yeah,” Erica, says, amused. “For figuring it out with him. Took you long enough.”

“Erica,” Patrick says, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Look, I’m happy for you, I really am,” Erica says, ignoring his attempt at interjecting. “I know that you never explicitly told me about you liking guys but you know I’m okay with it, right? And Jonny is Jonny. You could  _definitely_ do worse. I mean, that ass-”

“ _Erica_ ,” Patrick hisses, more than just a little mortified. “We are not- Me and Jonny aren’t. I- I like guys, but me and Jonny- It’s not like that.”

“It’s not?” She looks at him, severely unimpressed. “Because how I see it you too have been living in a relationship since pretty much October. I mean, Patty, he called mom when you were sick promising to take care of you, he picked us up from the airport for your birthday. Those are boyfriend things. And you are basically living together? You told Jacks when she called you last week that you are making breakfast for him? You’ve been texting nonstop over Christmas. You are at his place without him being there. I hate to break it to you, but you are kind of in a relationship.”

“We are  _not_ ,” Patrick squeaks in a –he’ll admit- pretty undignified way. “Jonny only broke up with Lindsey around Christmas, and we aren’t- It’s-  _Erica_. We are friends. End of story. Friends can make breakfast for friends. And friends hang at each other’s places. It’s not unusual, okay?”

“Jonny broke up with Lindsey?” Erica says excitedly, and of course, that’s what she choose to pick out from what he’s just said. “For you?”

“No,” Patrick snaps, blinking at her. “Because of reasons. It’s- We aren’t. Okay? We aren’t dating.”

It’s the truth, they aren’t in a relationship, they aren’t dating or whatever Erica thinks. They are friends and that’s all there is to it. That’s all there ever can be.

Jonny is amazing, and there had been that time in their rookie year, and Patrick would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, over the years, but Jonny had had Lindsey and now Patrick has the virus and even if he hadn’t, Jonny doesn’t feel that way anymore. Besides, things are good the way they are. Patrick is happy and Jonny seems to be as well. It’s working, their little micro cosmos.

“But you’d like to?” Erica asks, cheekily, and it’s only when Patrick threatens to clap his laptop shut that she agrees to drop the topic of him and Jonny.

Sadly, though, it’s in favor of asking what he’d meant with his  _‘I need to tell you something’_  text that he’d send her last night. He’d felt brave, high of a win, deciding that he wanted to tell at least one of his sisters about his diagnosis. He’d chosen Erica because she’s the oldest and he’d always been closest to her. And she had participated in a racing money for AIDS race some time during college. It’s not a guarantee that she’ll be okay with her brother having it, of course, because being accepting of something in theory and doing the same in practice are two different pairs of shoes, but it’s at least something, Patrick had decided.

Now though, in the light of day and after the disconcerting Jonny conversation, Patrick is feeling considerably less brave.

He eyes her warily, wringing his hands in his lap. He’s only ever told one other person about this, and telling your sister about your HIV diagnosis probably requires a different approach than telling your doctor. He guesses technically he also told Jonny, but that had been- Well. That had been Jonny.

“What did you want to talk about, Patty?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. “I assumed it’d be about your thing with Jonny, but apparently there isn’t a thing, so what is it?”

He looks at her, chewing on his lip.

 _I have HIV_ , he thinks, swallowing thickly.

She looks at him with big, unsuspecting eyes that remind him so much of their mother. How is he supposed to tell her this? She apparently knows that he’s gay, but still. How do you tell your little sister that you’ve got an incurable virus? That you’ll be dependent on medication for the rest of your life to keep that disease in check, to prevent it from morphing into something bigger and uglier? You don’t, but yesterday’s Patrick fucked that up.

“Patty?” she asks, humor bleeding out of her voice. “What is it?”

He shrugs, pressing his lips together, hearing her sucking in a sharp breath.

“What did you do?”

Patrick closes his eyes.  _I didn’t do anything_ , he wants to snap, but it’d be a lie. She thinks he did something like the cabbie again, or has gotten himself accused of something again, and while that isn’t true, he _did_ do something.

“I…” he starts, licking his lips, glancing at her sheepishly. “I slept with a guy last year.”

Erica blinks. “Okay? Uh, congratulations? So did I?”

“Erica,” he says, and she throws up her hands.

“What?” She laughs. “I did, where are we going with this? Sharing boy stories?”

Maybe it’s Patrick’s brain short circuiting, or maybe it’s all the organic food Jonny has been making for him that has him all confused, but somehow Patrick finds himself snapping:

“Yes.” he stares at her. “Boy meets boy and gets a call five months later to get tested for HI-fucking-V. Moral of the story? Use a condom, not just for contraception.”

Erica stares back at him. She isn’t laughing anymore. Her face has completely fallen and she’s looking at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. When it seems to finally dawn on her, she looks absolutely heartbroken.

“Patty,” she says, blinking rapidly. “You aren’t telling me that you- Are you?”

“I’m- I am, Erica,” Patrick gets out before having to clear his throat again, sniffling already.

Seeing his sister liken this, seeing tears rise up in her eyes, it hurts. It’s as bad as seeing Jonny cry that day they did the tests, except that back then Patrick had been too overwhelmed with his own despair to really take Jonny's reaction in. Now he has to watch his sister try to comprehend what he's saying, what it means,  _truly_  means, and it’s hard. It’s really fucking hard and Patrick has always been a crier, so when the tears start rolling on Erica’s cheeks, he can’t help but start crying too, despite making a valiant effort on wiping them away so he can put on a smile for her. It’s awful, his diagnosis, he knows that, but it’s also- It’s his life now, and he’s learning to live with it.

“I’m getting treatment, Erica,” he says when her sobs have quieted down a bit. “I’m working with Dr. Terry, and the rest of the medical staff, I’m taking my meds, I’m- I’m handling it. So you don’t have to worry, yeah? It’s not the 80s anymore. People get fucking old with this shit now.”

He’s done some reading of his own lately. He doesn’t think he knows as much as Jonny yet, because Jonny seems to have made being informed about HIV his newest hobby, but he’s started making an effort to commit some information to memory himself.

“You are sick, Pat,” she whispers, her eyes red and tear filled. “Why didn’t you- Why didn’t you just use a condom? I don’t understand.”

“Because I was dumb,” he says honestly, looking at her helplessly. “I was an idiot, I thought- I thought that I didn’t have to because I couldn’t get him pregnant anyway.”

She opens her mouth but Patrick cuts her off, shaking his head. “Don’t. I know. But I can’t go back. I fucked up and now I have it.”

He gives a small shrug. He knows so much more now that it’s too late, which is kind of ironic. He knows now that receiving oral sex is the least risky you can do, and being on the receiving end of anal sex, the riskiest. He knows that you should use protection even for going down on girls and that being the one giving during sex may be less risky than bottoming, but far from risk free. He wonders if his sisters know that shit, if they’ve ever even thought about it. Not that he wants to think about his sisters having sex, but-

But he’d rather have that, than think about them finding themselves freaking out about two lines on a stick that isn’t a pregnancy stick. An unwanted pregnancy you can at least terminate. There isn’t any terminating to be done for an HIV infection. You got it, you are stuck with it, end of story.

“Oh, Patty,” she says, looking at him sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

Patrick gives her a self-deprecating smile. “Not your fault, sis.”

“I’m still sorry,” she says, kissing her palm and pressing it to her camera for a second. “I love you, Patty. A thousand hugs, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He smiles. “But don’t worry about me, yeah? I’m doing well. I’m handling it and Jonny’s been amazing, it’s-”

“Jonny knows?” Erica says, surprise evident on her face for a second then it gives way to warm understanding. “Of course, Jonny knows. He’s the first one you told, isn’t he?”

“I-” Patrick blushes a little. “Yeah. He actually got tested with me, because I was freaking out so badly.”

Erica smiles, sniffing a little.

“That’s sweet of him.” It looks like she wants to say more so Patrick waits patiently, but nothing comes, she just keeps looking at him with that weird smile on her face, that contradicts the traces of tears he can still see on her face

“Well, yeah,” Patrick says, a little hesitantly. “That’s just how he is, you know?”

“I don’t,” she says, wiping her eyes one last time. “But you do obviously. Did you tell anyone else? I mean, except me, Jonny, and your doctor obviously. Jess or Jacks?”  _Mom and dad?_

Patrick shakes his head, and Erica nods. She gets it, why he hasn’t told anyone else. She knows their parents and she knows that there are a lot of people like them. She’s not as bad as him but she knows how people are, she’s been ranting about it to him often enough.

“You can tell Jessica, and Jacquie if you want,” he allows, biting his lip. “I know you like talking to each other about stuff that bothers you. Just- Just don’t tell mom and dad. They can’t know, alright? Mom would freak and go pray for me and dad-”

He gets interrupted by the sound of the door opening. When he cranes his neck he finds Jonny there, hessian bags in hand, looking mildly surprised.

“Hi, Jonny,” Erica calls, causing Jonny to peek at the lap top screen, giving an adorable little wave.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were on skype,” he nods to the headphones hanging from his neck. “I’ll get out of your hair in a sec, I’ll just put these in the pantry, okay?” He holds up his bags.

“Yeah, yeah, farmer’s boy, do your thing,” Patrick says with a snort, waving him off. Jonny is already half way to the kitchen when Patrick calls after him: “Did you bring me my Froyo?”

“They didn’t have the flavor you liked at the Froyo place,” Jonny calls from the kitchen, voice only slightly muffled.

Patrick pulls a disappointed face, turning back to Erica. “Can you believe?”

Before she can answer, Jonny reappears though, startling Patrick to hell and back by pressing something  _icy_  against his neck, causing him to shriek like a fucking seagull.

“ _What the hell_ ” he yelps, trying to escape the awful feeling by ducking away and simultaneously swatting his hands at Jonny, who’s just laughing at Patrick, the fucking asshole, just like Erica, who’s grinning at Patrick through his computer screen, tears almost forgotten.

“I hate you, I hate you, you asshole,” Patrick yelps, a little out of breath, when Jonny finally shows mercy, removing whatever it is from Patrick’s neck. Patrick glares at him.

Jonny is smiling from ear to ear. “Catch.”

Patrick catches, but it’s a close call, and it take shim another moment of glaring at Jonny before he’s ready to redirect his attention to the cold thing, Jonny has now tossed at him, it’s-

“Ben & Jerry’s? Peanut Buttah Cookie Core?” he says in wonder, looking up from his lap at Jonny, who’s still smiling, the fucker. “You brought me Ben & Jerry’s?”

“Evidently,” Jonny says, rolling his eyes, magicking out a spoon from behind his back that he hands Patrick. “To make up for the Froyo.” Then he leans over to the PC to address Erica: “It was nice seeing you. Say hi to the others from me.”

“I will,” Erica says, the sweetest smile on her face. “It was good seeing you too.” As soon as Jonny is gone, she fixes Patrick with a firm glare. “Not a relationship my ass,” she says, causing Patrick to duck his head, digging his spoon into the cup of too damn delicious ice cream.

Whatever. Ice cream doesn’t make a relationship. Besides, friendship is a relationship too.

“Not a capital R relationship,” Erica points out and Patrick scowls at her.

If he was in a Relationship with Jonny, he’d know. They’ve been there before. Sort of. Sure they hadn’t called it that back then, but it had been. And it hadn’t been like this. For one, there had been significantly more sex. And that is  _definitely_ not happening.

 

***

 

It’s all Erica’s fault really.

Things had been good, and then she had to get up all in Patrick’s business, putting ideas in his head, calling his and Jonny’s thing a relationship. It messes everything up. It messes  _Patrick_  up, and it’s all Erica’s fault.

Which is a strange enough thought in itself, blaming his sister for him looking at Jonny differently. But waking up in your best friend’s arms with a boner after passing out on the couch, and your first thought being a ‘Fuck you’ to your sister, takes the entire thing to a whole new level of weird.

Jonny is still fast asleep, lying there stretched out on the couch, arm having fallen to the side from where it had been wrapped around Patrick. Patrick knows he’ll complain about his back tomorrow morning, no matter whether he spends the rest of the night on the couch or in his bed, but Patrick should probably still wake him up and get him into bed, because Jonny shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch in his own home. He can’t bring himself to wake him, though. Instead he’s sitting there, pillow pressed in his lap, looking at Jonny’s sleeping face, listening to his loud mouth-breathing, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

It wouldn’t be half so bad if he didn’t remember the dream that left him with a raging boner upon waking. If he didn’t remember, he’d just go and take a cold shower and be done with it. He’ll still do that, the cold shower part, but he’ll do it with fuzzy images from his dream still floating around in his head. It’s not even something new. He sees Jonny naked pretty much every day as a byproduct of their job, has for the last ten years now, and he’s even seen Jonny naked in the context of sex.

It _isn’t_ new so it shouldn’t hit him like this, but fuck, even now, five minutes after waking up with his hard cock pressed against Jonny’s hip, he’s feeling hot all over at the thought of Jonny going on his knees in front of Patrick, dark eyes focused on Patrick and only Patrick. They had been in a locker room, but Patrick doesn’t remember which. He remembers his heart beating to his throat as he spread his legs to give Jonny better access. He remembers the wetness of Jonny’s hair when Patrick had run his hand through it, finding it thinner and shorter than the last time they had done this, all those years ago.

He’d jerked awake the moment Jonny’s lips had closed around hiss cock, and at first, the first few second of confused wakefulness, Patrick had thought it had just been the intensity of it that had made him startle awake, the feeling of his bare dick in a hot, wet mouth.

Then he had realized he hadn’t been wearing a condom.

It’s fucked up, he knows it. It’s so fucking fucked up. Blaming it all on Erica, wanting back into the dream, and looking at Jonny now, still hard, despite the nausea he feels at the thought of putting Jonny into that kind of risk. He should get up, take a shower and be done with this, cross it out of his mind and not think about it again, not awake and not asleep. He should, because everything about this is so incredibly wrong and Patrick doesn’t even jerk off anymore, so how could he let this happen?

 

***

 

Jonny calls him the next morning, confused by Patrick not being there. Patrick has to close his eyes, slumping down in his loveseat and staring out at the Chicago skyline, because this isn’t okay. He doesn’t know how he let it get this far, but if waking up without him in the condo has Jonny be all grumbly and confused, then something is wrong. It should be the norm and yet Patrick has to sit here and make something up about needing a special adapter for his electric shaver that he somehow forgot at his place besides not having spent a night there the entirety last week. It’s a problem.

Another problem is that after that first night, after that first dream, Patrick can’t seem to stop. He makes an effort to go to sleep in his own bed, to drive home directly after dinner, and not think twice about it but he still wakes up hard and leaking, and it takes everything he has out of him not to rub one out against the mattress imagining it to be Jonny’s amazing ass instead, like it had been in his dream. He doesn’t but it’s a close call. Made less close by his ongoing disgust with his own jizz. He hasn’t-

It’s fucking bizarre when he thinks about it, but he hasn’t jerked off since before Aksel’s call. He’s only thirty, he’s not supposed to go celibate for over three months. He doesn’t think he’s gone that long without touching himself since he discovered jerking off at the age of eleven. It’s also stupid, because it’s not like he can infect himself with it and if it really grossed him out that much, he could always jerk it wearing a condom, but he just hadn’t been feeling it, these past few months. Now though,  _god_ , does he feel it.

It’s awkward as hell to look Jonny in the eyes with another night of dreaming about him behind Patrick, but Jonny, the angel, seems mostly just confused by Patrick suddenly pulling back from him, not the weird looks Patrick is shooting him. He asks about Patrick’s health, if he’s having sleep issues again and if maybe they should discuss adjustments of Patrick’s medication with Dr. Terry again. Which is incredibly sweet, but it makes Patrick only feel even guiltier. Jonny has been nothing but a good friend to him, treating him so amazingly and Patrick thanks him by having wet dreams about him, like some horny teenager with no self-control. It’s driving Patrick crazy.

 

***

 

The first time (or the first time since October) Patrick actually does jerk off to the thought of Jonny isn’t even after a dream about him. It happens in his hotel room, after coming back from the rink, his blood still buzzing with adrenaline and endorphins from their win, from Jonny snapping his point drought with a fucking hat trick, the last goal, in the dying seconds of the third having been fucking _filthy_. Patrick had wanted to bend him over right then and there.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, stripping out of his suit the second the hotel room door falls shut behind him.

He’d sat in the bus back to the hotel fully intending to just take a cold shower and get rid of this unwanted boner, but after watching Jonny laugh with their teammates the entire drive back, after him hugging Patrick at least twice in the locker room, yelling about what a beauty Patrick’s set up had been, Patrick just can’t. He wants this so much and he’s not hurting anyone but himself by doing it. He’ll make sure not to come on anything but himself and his own clothes. He’ll be careful, he’ll-

He groans, when he wraps his hand around his cock, electricity sparking through him, making him shudder. It has been too damn long.

Patrick can already tell after the first stroke that he won’t last long. He’s taught as a bow and his balls are drawn up tight at the feeling of finally getting some friction on his cock, the memory of Jonny’s intense, laser focus eyes finding Patrick on the ice, ten seconds before that last breakaway, before Jonny bolting forward, trusting Patrick to get the puck to him, to evade that d-man and-

“Fuck, Jonny,” Patrick breathes out, biting his lip, fucking up into his fist.

He thinks about Jonny crashing him into the boards, yelling in joy over his goals as hats rained down on them. He thinks about Jonny squeezing the back of his neck in thanks for the gluten free pancakes Patrick made him two days ago. He thinks about Jonny promising him to be there, about Jonny’s stupid smile after winning the movie argument, and-

“Pat, did you want-”

“Fuck,” Patrick gasps, eyes flying open as he comes all over his stomach, staring at Jonny staring at him from the connecting door that he must have opened and-

“ _Don’t you know how to fucking knock, you fucking Canadian freak_ _?”_ Patrick half screeches rolling off the bed to the side, away from Jonny, almost hitting his head on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry, I just thought I heard my name, and-” Jonny stutters, and Patrick wants to  _die_.

He just wants to die, right here right now on the carpet of this ugly St. Louis (it’s always fucking St. Louis) hotel room, because there is no way he’ll ever recover from this. Jonny heard his name. His goddamn name and then walked in on Patrick lying stark naked on his bed, jerking it. There aren’t a lot off conclusions to be drawn there.

“Pat, are you okay?” Jonny asks, still standing somewhere in the room, sounding mildly worried now.

“Go away,” Patrick moans, mortified. “Just go away, Jonny, please.”

“But-”

“Go!”

By some miracle (or maybe just because Jonny is a decent human being) Jonny does leave then, allowing Patrick to lick his wounds somewhere other than the floor. Not that he wants to die any less on the bed or in the bathroom, but it’s still an upgrade.

He religiously rubs his come off in the shower, checking the bedding and the carpet twice for any stray come before he allows himself to crawl into bed, far too early, listening to Jonny puttering around in the other room while he fights the urge to go over there and declare that ‘ _It wasn’t what it looked like’_ , except that it was and Patrick feels like the worst human being on earth for it.

Jonny would probably be all sweet and understanding about it, tell Patrick that it’s okay and that it’s great that he’s gotten over his jerking off inhibitions. Not that Patrick thinks Jonny even knows about those, but still. Jonny would be amazing about it and Patrick would still feel awful and there’s no point to it, which is why Patrick doesn’t say anything. He slips into a fitful sleep and the next morning he’s so tired he forgets all about being awkward around Jonny on the flight back to the Chicago, even 

dozing off on Jonny’s shoulder at one point.

 

***

 

Neither Patrick nor Jonny really bring it up in the following week.

Patrick keeps expecting Jonny to do something because between the two of them, Jonny is the one who’s more confrontational, the one who goes to meet problems head on, unlike Patrick who knows his and Jonny’s symbiosis is a problem because of all that it implies, all that it is and that it isn’t. If he was Jonny, he’d probably do something about it, but in the end Patrick somehow always finds himself in the passenger seat when it comes to these kind of things.

He lets things continue the way they did before Jonny caught him masturbating while moaning his name and Jonny makes it so easy. He just talks about what he’s thinking of making for dinner and asks if Patrick will like it so Patrick knows that they are still on for dinner. He tells Patrick about the movies he’d like to watch, and makes sure Patrick is always aware of their scheduled work outs.

It’s probably Jonny’s way of telling Patrick that it’s oaky without submitting Patrick to actually having to have a conversation about it, knowing that Patrick would die of shame. That’d be a Jonny thing to do, taking shit like that into consideration. Jonny might be a blunt and dense at time motherfucker when it comes to a lot of things and a lot of people, but he always makes an effort for Patrick, and god, if Patrick doesn’t love him for that.

Then Jonny kisses him and Patrick’s entire world stops turning.

It happens on Thursday, a week after the most mortifying day 2019 has had to offer so far for Patrick, and they’ve just come back from a trip to IKEA where Patrick has finally bought himself a bathroom rug, after Jonny had surprised him with a very bad and unenthusiastic Mean Girls imitation, telling Patrick to get into the car, because they were going shopping. Patrick doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone use the word ‘loser’ with as little bite as Jonny. It’s kind of ridiculous, especially when Patrick calls Jonny Regina George and Jonny only gets it after three traffic lights.

Jonny hates the new rug. He’d said so out loud when Patrick had pointed to one of the rugs, declaring loudly that he wanted that one or none at all. It’s objectively an ugly thing, hideous if Patrick is being honest, but he loves it. It’s very red and very fuzzy, with bigger loops in some seemingly random places. It’s great and for all that Jonny says he hates it, he placed it in their cart without hesitation despite bitching about Patrick’s tacky taste, if it could be called taste at all.

Patrick doesn’t care. It’s his rug, he picked it, he bought it and yeah, maybe it looks even tackier in Patrick’s bathroom with all the golden valves and shit than it had in the shop, but Patrick still grins brightly when he and Jonny put it on the floor.

“I love it,” he says, nudging Jonny with his elbow. “Thanks for taking me.”

“You could have gone yourself, you know?” Jonny says, eyeing the rug critically. “No one was stopping you.”

“No,” Patrick allows, sitting down on the edge of his tub, taking off his socks and burying his feet in the rug. It’s heaven. “But thanks anyway.”

Jonny rolls his eyes walking over to sit down next to Patrick. “No problem.”

He’s making a half-hearted effort to sound annoyed, but when Patrick glances over, he catches Jonny smiling softly, looking at Patrick’s pasty feet drawing circles on the rug.

“Remember how you got mad at me for getting drunk in here?” Patrick asks quietly after a moment, tapping his fingers against the tub. “You were so angry.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says absently.

With how close they are sitting, Patrick can see that Jonny’s lips are chapped. They always are during winter because Jonny doesn’t get the concept of chap sticks.

“Because I had made you lie to Q,” Patrick continues, but to his surprise, Jonny shakes his head.

“I was mad because I was worried, Pat,” he says, turning to frown at Patrick. “You hadn’t gotten wasted like that in years and then you suddenly go and do that? It looked like a fucking frat party happened in here, and I didn’t know why.” He pauses, his gaze far away for a moment before focusing back on Patrick, eyes soft. “I’ve always had an inkling when you did shit like this. Madison, the Cabbie, all those times, I always got it. I didn’t approve or anything but I always understood where you were coming from. I didn’t understand this time. It was like from one second to the next my best friend was in so much trouble that he had to go and get wasted several days in a row, and I didn’t even know about anything having happened.” Jonny gives a small shrug. “I was worried about you, Pat.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, his cheeks heating up a little.

He had known of course that Jonny has had his thoughts about his behavior, and that he had been worried but it’s something else entirely to hear him put it into words like this, saying that he always understood Patrick’s bullshit, but not this time, because this time it took Patrick weeks to come out with it, to confess to Jonny in the darkness of their hotel rooms, not even able to look Jonny in the eyes, just unloading his pent up fears and despair onto Jonny, trusting that Jonny would take it and carry it for him. And Jonny had. Jonny had held him, Jonny had promised his support and then Jonny had delivered, had done everything to make this easier for Patrick, and Patrick hadn’t even had to ask.

“You were amazing, you know,” Patrick says quietly, glancing at Jonny, stretching his pinky finger a little too stroke against Jonny’s jean clad thigh. “About all of this. Making me get tested, taking care of me when the meds messed me up, being there for me, everything. I don’t think I’ve thanked you enough for that.”

Jonny looks at him, eyes searching, the slightest dust of pink on his face. Patrick thinks they probably shouldn’t be sitting this close.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jonny says, voice low and raspy. “Not for that.”

“Yes, I do,” Patrick insists, smiling a little wider. Whatever Jonny says, he deserves to be thanked for this, for being the best friend anyone, Patrick most certainly, could ever ask for. “I don’t think anyone would have done what you did for me.”

“Yeah, but I’m me,” Jonny says, voice still low, quiet, dark eyes no longer searching, just looking, looking at Patrick in a way that has him feel all kinds of things.

Patrick has always loved being the center of attention, being seen. Nothing and no one has ever made him feel as seen as when Jonny’s eyes are on him.

“Yeah,” Patrick says softly, because that’s exactly his point. Jonny is Jonny and Jonny is-

-is kissing him, and maybe Patrick should have seen it coming but when Jonny’s lips press against his from one moment to the next, it hits Patrick like a hip check when he’s had his head down, knocking all air out of his lungs, his brain short-circuiting. All he can register is that Jonny’s lips feel as chapped as they look, and every bit as good as Patrick remembers from the last time he’s felt them on his all these years ago.

It’s pure instinct that makes him kiss back, Patrick is sure. It’s just- It’s muscle memory, it’s his brain not knowing what to do with the swooping feeling in his stomach, it’s just-

Jonny’s hand cups the back of Patrick’s head, and he leans in further, his tongue licking over Patrick’s bottom lip and Patrick parts his lips, pushes himself closer and-

And pushes Jonny away, stumbling to his feet, staring at Jonny. “What are you- Wha- You can’t do that, Jonny! “ He half yells, heart racing in his chest so fast it hurts. “You can’t do that. You can’t just- You can’t just fucking kiss people, Jonny, what the hell? You can’t-”

Jonny looks at him with utter confusion on his face. He almost lost his balance on the edge of the tub when Patrick shoved him back, but he caught himself, still sitting, blinking up at Patrick like he doesn’t understand any of what has just happened. Patrick doesn’t either.

“You can’t do that, Jonny,” Patrick says, voice trembling, a little bit less screechy now. “Don’t just- Don’t ever do that again.”

“Patrick,” Jonny says, getting to his feet, hand outstretched like he’s going to reach for him. He drops it though when Patrick recoils, raw pain written all over his face. “I’m sorry, I thought-”

“You aren’t supposed to  _think_ ,” Patrick snaps, feeling tears rise in his eyes.

He doesn’t understand why Jonny would do this, how he could possibly get the idea that kissing Patrick would be any kind of okay. It’s not- It’s Jonny’s dumb idea about Patrick not having to be alone for the rest of his life. He kept saying that whenever Patrick got sad about that, saying that his diagnosis didn’t mean that he couldn’t have a relationship, which is fucking bullshit and they both know it, because who’d date Patrick without kissing or sex? It’s not- People don’t do that. It’s just not-

Whatever Jonny is trying to prove here, it’s bullshit. It’s bullshit and it’s potentially dangerous. If Jonny gets infected because of kissing Patrick in some misguided attempt of proving to Patrick that he’s lovable or something, then Patrick is going to lose his mind. He’ll lose his mind and buy a cabin somewhere in the middle of nowhere far away from anyone he could ever be a risk to, and hate himself for the rest of his life. He doesn’t get how Jonny could be so careless.

“Patrick,” Jonny starts again, hands hanging uselessly by his side. He’s looking at Patrick pleadingly. For what, Patrick doesn’t know.

“ _No_ , Jonny,” Patrick says, shaking his head. “Don’t do this again. I don’t-” He crosses his arms, swallowing thickly. “I don’t  _want_  you to do this again, do you understand?”

Jonny stares at him, lips trembling just the slightest bit. “I thought you wanted-”

“Well, I don’t,” Patrick snaps and Jonny recoils like Patrick struck him. “Do you understand?”

Jonny isn’t looking at Patrick anymore. He’s staring off to the side, jaw clenched, as he blinks rapidly.

“I understand,” he says tightly.

“Okay,” Patrick breathes, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Okay. Good. That’s- That’s good. I-”

“I think I should go,” Jonny says suddenly, tone strangely detached, eyes refocused on Patrick. There’s nothing in his gaze. “I’m meeting Seabs for lunch.”

 _No, you aren’t,_  Patrick almost says, watching Jonny turn around and walk out, shoulders squared like he’s dragging himself off the ice after a hit he isn’t yet ready to admit shook him to the core. But he doesn’t, he lets Jonny go, listens to his footsteps on the hardwood floor, the sound of him pulling on his boots and then finally, half an eternity later, the door falling shut, locking Patrick alone in deafening silence.

 

***

 

Patrick doesn’t get drunk in his bathtub again, but it’s a close call. Instead he lies down on the new rug he bought that still smells like IKEA, and curls up around himself, crying, thick, ugly tears for what feels like forever, until his chest hurts and his cheeks are so wet his curls stick to them. It’s disgusting.  _He’s_ disgusting. He should have never let Jonny do this, he should have never let Jonny believe that it was okay, and he shouldn’t have yelled at Jonny. He should have said ‘No’, like a normal person and not treat Jonny like he fucking assaulted Patrick or something. He didn’t, and that’s the worst part, because Patrick sees it now. He sees how Jonny might have thought that they were having a moment, that a kiss would be welcome, _wanted_ even.

And he hadn’t been wrong. He hadn’t, but at the same time, he had been because there’s so much, so fucking much that speaks against a kiss for whatever reason happening between them. There’s the virus, obviously, the risk of infection Patrick just can’t submit anyone to. He thought Jonny understood that, with how often Patrick had said it, that he’ll die alone, that the chance for having a real relationship, for sex, for something with someone, has passed, that it’s just himself for now and ever. Jonny has heard him say that, has always argued, but he heard Patrick. He knew, and yet-

It might have just been pity, it might have been him trying to prove some fucked up point or Jonny just being confused. But whatever it is, if it’s all or none, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it can’t happen again, no matter how good it had felt those first few seconds before Patrick’s brain had caught up.

 

***

 

Patrick dreams of Jonny again that night, but it’s not a sex dream.

It doesn’t even feel like a dream at first. It’s just them, like any other day, together at Jonny’s place, Patrick sitting on the kitchen counter, dangling his legs and Jonny standing by the stove, explaining something about the merits of the herbs he’s marinated the chicken with like Patrick is going to remember any of it later, like he doesn’t already trust Jonny with his everything, the elast of it being his nutrition because Jonny knows his shit and who is Patrick to question him. Except when it comes to Patrick’s love for pop tarts. Jonny calls them pure poison and Patrick always laughs.

In the dream he’s the one who kisses Jonny. He beckons Jonny to leave the chicken alone, to come closer, step between Patrick’s legs and Jonny does, because he’s Jonny and this is a dream, and his hands are calloused and warm when he places them on Patrick’s hips, while Patrick angles his head up, allowing their lips to meet for a sweet, sweet kiss, that leaves Patrick with a prickling under his skin that spreads from his scalp to his toes.

Patrick keeps his eyes closed, his arms wrapped around Jonny’s neck, feeling Jonny’s breath on his face, their foreheads leaned against each other. He’s never felt so close to another human being, he’s never felt this warm, and safe and right.

He kisses Jonny again, nipping at his lips, letting his tongue dart out and Jonny opens his mouth pliantly, granting Patrick entrance for more, more, more and Patrick takes. Takes what Jonny is giving, until he’s breathless, and happy, unable to keep the smile of his face, because this is it, this is what he’d been afraid of ten years ago, what he’s been craving ever since, what he finally has and-

Patrick opens his eyes and Jonny’s summer tanned skin is gone, replaced by a sickly pale grey. He’s always had hollow cheeks, but the Jonny that looks back at Patrick with a soft smile on his bleeding lips looks like he’s starving, like his skin is pulled too tightly over the sharp angles of his face. There are lesions all over his face, and his hair isn’t Jonny’s hair at all. It’s the hair of an old man, thin and sparse and colorless, like-

Like Jonny is dying.

Patrick jerks awake with Jonny’s name on his lips and tears in his eyes.

He barely even remembers the kiss anymore but the image of Jonny, dying, sick with AIDS Jonny is as clear as a photograph in Patrick’s head, haunting him all the way to the bathroom where he splashes cold water onto his face with shaky hands, his pale reflection watching him, silent and judgmental.

Patrick has had nightmares of himself looking like that, like Tom Hanks had in ‘Philadelphia’ and those had been awful, had made him feel nauseous and off kilter, but this, Jonny like that, it’s worse. It’s so much worse, Patrick can barely put it into words.

He can’t do this. He can’t ever submit anyone to the risk of infection because Patrick selfishly doesn’t want to be alone, selfishly wants to be with them. Patrick couldn’t do that to anyone, but least of all Jonny. Patrick would rather die than risk transmitting the virus to Jonny.

Jonny has always been good, he’s always been careful, he doesn’t deserve this. He never slept around, has a total of two people he’s ever had sex with and yeah, one person is enough if it’s the wrong person, but fuck, Jonny’s been good. In general, and most of all to Patrick. Patrick meant it when he told Jonny that he’s been amazing and he means it when he thinks that he loves Jonny, in every possible way, and that’s precisely the problem. Patrick could never do this to someone he loves.

He can almost hear Jonny’s voice in his head, scolding him for implying that  _he_ , Patrick, deserves this, and technically Patrick knows that he doesn’t, because no one does, but he still feels at fault, deep down, because he did have unprotected sex. No matter what Jonny or anyone says, he did that. He was stupid and reckless and millions of people might get away with the same thing every day, but Patrick didn’t. And that’s really all there is to that.

Actions have consequences. Sleeping with Aksel had consequences, finally taking that test had, and letting this not-relationship with Jonny go on for far too long, even after realizing that it was a problem, as well. And now Patrick has to deal with them, even if he has no idea how. This time he can’t just run to Jonny for help, can’t break down in his arms and let Jonny sort things out for him, because this time Jonny is part of the action and the consequences, and really, Patrick has only got himself to blame.

 

***

 

“Is there something I should know?” Dr. Terry asks, sitting down on a stool in front of Patrick, eying him expectantly, a folded piece of paper which Patrick assumes are his test results, in his hand.

Patrick swallows, heartbeat immediately skyrocketing. If Dr. Terry is asking something like that, there’s got to be something, right? There’s got to be something wrong with Patrick. Well, more than him being HIV positive anyway. Maybe the meds stopped working, maybe his CD4 count plummeted, maybe he’s got something else now too, contracted it somehow without having had sex in nine months. Maybe-

“Why?” he asks, voice thick.

He doesn’t dare to look at Dr. Terry. It’s his first check-up after starting the HAART cocktail he’s taking right now, and he’d been hoping it would just be a quick in and out, Dr. Terry giving him the newest readings on all his values and counts and whatnot, them all being okay, or at least as expected. Then he’d go home to continue licking his wounds from Jonny not talking to him all practice, not more than absolutely necessary at least. He deserves it, he knows, and it’s probably for the best anyway, but it had still hurt. So obviously, apparently, that Duncs had invited Patrick to come and hang with him and Colton that afternoon to cheer him up. Patrick has had to decline. Not that he’d be particularly good company at the moment anyway.

“For starters,” Dr. Terry says, giving Patrick a long look. “Because you’ve been looking at me like you’re expecting me to tell you you’ve got six months to live since you’ve walked in here. So I’m asking, if there’s anything I should know, anything you’d like to tell me.” He pauses, looking at Patrick expectantly. When Patrick fails to open his mouth, he adds: “Any new side effects of the medication? Because you know, we can make adjustments to that. Or any new symptoms or health complaints? I can only help you if you talk to me.”

“No, I-” Patrick says, shaking his head. “No, I’m- It’s all good. I’m feeling good. Did the-” He licks his lips, nodding to the paper in Dr. Terry’s hands. “Did the tests show something differently?”

“No,” Dr. Terry says after seizing Patrick with another scrutinizing look. “Your viral load is undetectable, as was our goal. Your CD4 count has increased slightly, which is exactly what we hoped for. As long as it stays above 400, we can be happy.”

Patrick nods. 400 is a bit of a magic line. It had been his starting point, and as long as he’s above it but below 500 it’s not great, but not bad either. He’s still good, which is what they want. Dr. Terry had warned Patrick that a more significant increase in his CD4 count could take a few years of continuous HAART therapy and watching out for his health, so as long as it’s not dropping, Patrick should be happy.

And he is. It’s great that Dr. Terry doesn’t have any bad news for him, because no bad news are good news.

“That’s great,” Patrick says, forcing himself to exhale. “Thanks, doc.”

“No problem, Kaner,” Dr. Terry says, giving Patrick a clap on the shoulder. “Now, if there really isn’t anything else, I’d ask you to excuse me, I’ve got-”

“If I kissed someone, do they have to get tested?” Patrick blurts out before Dr. Terry can fully turn away, and Patrick loses whatever courage he managed to scrape together in the last few seconds. “I mean-” He blushes. “Should they? I didn’t- I got kissed, and- Could they have it? If-”

“Well,” Dr. Terry says, as calm as ever, gracefully glossing over Patrick’s embarrassing stammering. “That depends. Did you  _and_  your partner have mouth sores or bleeding gums and was blood exchanged during the kiss? Which would have had to be deep, and open-mouthed.”

“Uh.” Patrick pulls a face. “No?”

Sores and bleeding gums and blood exchange aren’t exactly things he associates with a good kissing. And the kiss with Jonny had been good. Better than good if he’s being honest.

“Then there is no need for your partner to get tested,” Dr. Terry says with a polite smile. “As we’ve discussed, HIV is not spread through saliva. If you are ever unsure, you can always check on the CDC website under the HIV section. Or ask me or any other member of the medical staff, of course.”

“Okay,” Patrick breathes, running a hand through his hair, his heart feeling a little lighter. He didn’t  _really_  think the short kiss alone could have endangered Jonny, but it’s still a relief to have Dr. Terry reassure him like this. “Okay, that’s- That’s good. I wouldn’t have, but-”

“You’re good, Kaner,” Dr. Terry says. “There is no reason to worry. Kissing, as long as you don’t have any of the things I previously described, is perfectly fine. But please remember, that if you were to choose to have sexual intercourse with someone, you are legally required to disclose your HIV status to your potential sexual partner. If you neglect to do that, they might have grounds to sue you, even if you do not transmit HIV, understood?”

If Patrick hadn’t been bright red before, he sure as hell is now. He may have gotten this disease through sex but there hadn’t been much need to talk about it with Dr. Terry. It had been mentioned to him that it was required of him to inform all sexual partners he has had since the risk even about his diagnosis but since there had been none, that had been it. If Patrick had had any interest in engaging in any sexual activity, if he believed it to be a possibility for him, he might have asked specifics, but he hadn’t so this, Dr. Terry giving him the HIV version of  _the talk_  is more than a little mortifying.

“I’m- I know, thanks,” Patrick croaks out, getting hastily to his feet. “But thanks. I’m not- I’m not gonna have that. Sex. So. Yeah. Thanks, doc. Again.”

“Like I said, Kaner,” Dr. Terry says calmly, holding out his hand for Patrick to shake. “No problem. Take care.”

“I will,” Patrick says, shaking Dr. Terry’s hand, giving him a quick smile, before slipping out of the room, sacking a little against the door as soon as it’s closed. He gone through a lot of embarrassing shit in his life, but lately he’s been on a fucking roll.

“What did he say?”

Patrick’s eyes fly open at the sound of Jonny’s voice, finding him leaning against the wall opposite of Dr. Terry’s office, looking at Patrick with a worried crease between his brows.

“Is everything okay?” Jonny asks, taking a step forward. “I just want to know, I’ll get out of your hair in a minute, I promise. You look a little-”

“I’m okay,” Patrick says quickly, pushing himself away from the door, squaring his shoulders. “I’m- Results were good. It’s all good.”

It’s sweet of Jonny that he waited around, that he even knew by heart when Patrick’s appointment would be. It’s very caring, and very Jonny, but Patrick just didn’t expect to see him right now. Not after the day of awkward silence.

“Okay,” Jonny says, swallowing visibly, flexing his fingers. “That’s- That’s good. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees lamely, and then, he doesn’t know why, he adds: “Viral load is undetectable. And uh, CD4 count could also be worse. So.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, because he’s just as lame as Patrick, and just as awkward apparently. “That’s good. It’s- Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says again, and he should probably get going, because Jonny looks like he’s working up to something, the way he’s staring at Patrick, his lips set tightly, tension visible in his shoulders. Patrick should really go, should cut this off at the root, and he will. In a moment, he will, he swears, he’ll-

“Patrick, I-”

“Don’t, Jonny,” Patrick interjects, shaking his head pleadingly. “Please, don’t.”

“But I have to,” Jonny insists, staring at Patrick. “I fucking have to say this. Please let me. Just let me say this and then I’ll let you be, you can send me to hell, I promise. But please? Please let me.”

“Jonny,” Patrick says, biting his lip. 

 _Jonny, don’t,_ he means to say again, but the words get stuck in his throat, so Jonny, taking Patrick’s silence as permission, begins. Not with a lead up, not with something easy or simple or innocuous, but with everything he has.

“I love you,” Jonny says, voice determined and helpless at the same time. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Patrick. And that’s not new. I’ve been in love with you since forever, since we’ve been rookies, even when I didn’t like you. I loved you then, and I love you now, and-”

“Jonny,” Patrick hisses, eyes wide, cheeks flaming.

They are standing in an open corridor, anyone could walk by, anyone could hear, fuck Dr. Terry, only a door away could listen in and Jonny is just standing there, declaring his undying love like they are in a movie or something. Patrick wants to  _die_. He’s thirty fucking years old and he’s listening to a love confession and he wants to die.

Except that it’s not just any love confession, it’s Jonny. Jonny and his Bambi eyes.

“No, Patrick,” Jonny says, expression pained. “Let me talk. I love you. That hasn’t changed in the last ten years and that won’t change in the next ten either. No matter what. So just know that. I know you didn’t feel the same as me back then-”

_I did, I did, I was just scared._

“-and that’s okay, and it’s okay, if you still don’t-”

_I do, god, I do._

“-but if you do-”

_But I’m scared._

Jonny looks at Patrick helplessly, rubbing his neck, like the words are failing him, like he has too much too say and not enough words, like he desperately needs Patrick to understand but knows he’s failing to say what he needs to.

“Lately it felt like you did. Like you might,” Jonny says, with half a shrug, an echo of hope in his eyes. “It started to feel like you might love me back, so I thought- So I kissed you. And you freaked out, which is- That’s okay, I should have asked, I know that, and you don’t owe me an explanation. If you don’t love me back that’s okay, we are good you and I, just the way we are, so if you say no because you don’t feel the same as me, I swear that’s okay, but if you are saying no, because you are scared of infecting me-”

Patrick opens his mouth, but Jonny holds up his hand, a pleading look to let him finish in his eyes.

“If you are scared of infecting me, and that’s why you are saying no, then I need you to know that there are a million ways we can be together that puts me at no risk at all,” Jonny says, staring at Patrick intensely. “Like kissing, or just- If you don’t want that either, that’s okay. Even if it’s without risk, we don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, we just- I don’t need kissing or sex. I just want to be with you, Patrick. So if you want that too-”

“Jonny,” Patrick says, his chest aching at Jonny’s words, at the hope in his eyes. “Jonny you can’t-” He shakes his head, throwing a glance down the corridor. “You can’t say that, you might be fine with it now, but you- You kissed me. You clearly want to kiss me, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t miss it. Or sex. Fuck, Jonny,  _I_  miss sex. You can’t-”

“I _can_ ,” Jonny insists, taking another step forward. “And I am, Pat. I am. I told you, my feelings aren’t going to change no matter what. Yes, I wanted to kiss you, but if the price to be with you is never kissing anyone ever again, then I’ll pay that. Gladly.”

Patrick can tell Jonny is about to take another step closer so he holds out his hand, pressing his palm against Jonny’s chest, keeping him at arm’s length.

“I can’t ask that of you,” Patrick says, voice thick.

“You don’t have to,” Jonny says, the corner of his mouth curling up the slightest bit. “You don’t have to ask, I’m offering.” He rests his hand over Patrick’s on his chest. “You just have to say yes.”

“I-”

_I can’t._

Patrick stares at Jonny, up at his kind, hopeful face, the raw love in his eyes, and he just wants. He can’t, but he wants. He wants this so badly. He wants Jonny, what Jonny is offering. He wants it all, the kisses and the sex, the cooking together, and movie night every night and not just once a week, he wants to  _be_ with Jonny, in a capital R relationship. He wants to say yes.

Dr. Terry’s door opens and they spring apart like someone poured a bucket full of ice water over them.

“Oh?” Dr. Terry says looking at them with raised eyebrows. “Was there something else you needed to talk about, Kaner?” He turns to Jonny. “Or you, Jon?”

“Uh, no, I’m good,” Jonny says, quick to recover, giving Dr. Terry a nod. Throwing Patrick a hesitant glance he adds: “We are good?”

Patrick nods, feeling like he swallowed his tongue.

Dr. Terry eyes them curiously for a few seconds, eyes flickering back and forth between them. Then he just nods, and with a final goodbye, he’s gone and Jonny and Patrick alone again.

“Oh god,” Patrick says, exhaling shakily, running a hand over his face.

“I don’t think he heard anything,” Jonny says after a moment, frowning after Dr. Terry.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, even though he has no idea.

He just knows that his legs feel like they are about to buckle and that he really needs to get out of here, preferably per teleport, but he’ll settle for crawling if he has to. The emotional tension that had filled the air between them a moment ago is gone, replaced by white cold dread that has the hair on Patrick’s arms stand up.

Jonny wants an answer. He’s asking for nothing but an answer, a yes or a no, and Patrick can’t even give him that and it makes him feel like the worst human being on earth. Not being able to answer, wanting to say yes, wanting to say no, wanting to go back and time and never end things with Jonny in the first place, it’s all there, all tying down his tongue, weighing down his chest in a way that doesn’t allow him to do anything but look at Jonny.

Jonny is looking back hopefully, at first, then, when Patrick still doesn’t say anything, his face falls, little by little, with each passing second, until he presses his lips together, face hardening.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat, straightening where he stands. “It’s fine. It’s- Thank you, for letting me talk.”

“Jonny,” Patrick whispers, because of course  _now_  his tongue works, but Jonny just raises his hand, shaking his head, a silent ‘ _don’t_ ’.

He backs away from Patrick, not like he’s been burned, but he backs away all the same and it feels like he takes a part of Patrick with him. Jonny turns around without another word, just gives Patrick one last look before walking off in the direction of the exit.

He’ll leave, Patrick realizes, and even though it should have been obvious the moment Jonny stepped away, it takes Patrick watching Jonny walk all the way down the corridor for the weight of that to actually sink in. Jonny is going to leave. He is going to push open these doors, he’s going to walk out and get into his car, and then he’ll be gone. He won’t look back and he’ll be gone.

Tomorrow he’ll show up to practice and smile at Patrick, pat him on the back and tell him they are good, and they will be, but fuck, Patrick wants more. He wants great, he wants amazing, he wants extraordinary, he wants _Jonny_. More than he wants another Cup and that’s the realization that makes Patrick run before he can change his mind.

“ _Jonny_ ,” he calls and even though Jonny is all the way down the hallway, he turns around, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Pat?” he asks, once Patrick comes to a slithering halt in front of him, his heart racing, not from his sprint, but from what he’s about to do. “What is it?”

“You,” Patrick breathes, looking up at Jonny on the confusion on his face that gives way to the openness, the vulnerability, and hopefulness, that Patrick loves so, so much. “You, you Canadian freak.”

If this was a movie, this would be where they kiss. It all fits, the love confession, the interruption, the running after. It’s all there and if they were in a movie, Patrick would kiss Jonny, he’d reach up and cup Jonny’s face and he’d bring their lips together for a kiss that would start slow and hesitant yet so full of want that would turn into more, into passion and hunger soon. But they aren’t in a movie and Patrick knows if he kissed Jonny, he’d see dream Jonny’s face in front of him again, so he doesn’t.

Instead Patrick reaches up and loops his arms around Jonny’s neck, and it’s not their lips that meet, it’s their foreheads. Patrick doesn’t care how much space is still between them objectively, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt as intimate with anyone as he does feel now with Jonny.

Jonny takes Patrick’s face in his hands, but he doesn’t kiss him, he’s just touching, brushing his thumbs over Patrick’s cheeks, over the sensitive skin under his eyes, his breath tickling Patrick in a way that has him shudder in the best possible way.

“I’ll be good to you,” Jonny promises, voice barely even there, as his lips find Patrick’s cheek, as soft and gentle as Patrick has ever been touched. “I swear, I’ll be good to you, Patrick Kane.”

Patrick doesn’t open his eyes, just tilts his head, gives Jonny better access, for his tender kissing, his nuzzling, his declarations of affection. “I know,” he whispers, reaching up to run a hand through Jonny’s short hair. “I know you will.”

He just hopes that he can be enough to deserve all this devotion. But when Jonny is touching him like this, it’s almost too easy to believe.

 

***

 

Patrick doesn’t know if saying yes to Jonny is the worst or best thing he’s ever done.

He loves Jonny and Jonny loves him and they’ve been living in each other’s pockets for a decade, it’s almost like this, being together, is just the natural evolvement of their relationship, and it makes sense really. There’s no person Patrick would rather be with at pretty much any given moment, even if Jonny is driving him mad or pissing him off right that second. It’s just- It’s Jonny, and people have been joking about them being hockey soulmates the entirety of their careers, never realizing how true that rings off the ice as well. Patrick himself hadn’t wanted to realize that.

The entire drive back to Patrick’s condo (they leave Jonny’s car in the parking lot), Patrick is the happiest he’s ever been, unable to keep the grin on his face, looking over to the passenger seat every few seconds to check if Jonny is still there, still his, still-

It lasts until they reach Patrick’s condo, where Patrick has to fight of a panic attack at the thought of what he’s just done, what he’s just agreed to. It’s selfish, and reckless and they really shouldn’t do this. What are they even doing? Them, suddenly starting to date could mess with the team dynamics, it could get Jonny sick, it could be a disaster, causing them to suddenly hate each other. It could be the worst fucking thing in the world, and isn’t this, Patrick panicking, proving just how much he doesn’t deserve Jonny, how much of a selfish thing it had been to say yes, when Patrick is so unsure in a way that could only hurt Jonny?

“It’s not going to be a disaster,” Jonny promises calmly, rubbing Patrick’s back as Patrick tries to breathe, head between his knees where they are sitting on his couch. “It’s going to be fine. We’ve basically already been in a relationship, these past months, we just didn’t call it that.”

“It wasn’t-” Patrick gasps, trying to focus on the warmth of Jonny’s hand. “Not a capital R relationship, not-”

“We are just calling it something else now,” Jonny says, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s head, helping him to sit up a little more. “We are exactly the way we were before, and we were good, weren’t we?”

Patrick nods shakily, climbing in between Jonny’s legs and wrapping his arms around himself, so Jonny is basically hugging him from behind. They were good, if you don’t count the part where Patrick had recurrent sex dreams about Jonny, and freaked out because his sister called him out on having a relationship in everything but name with Jonny. And now Jonny is saying the same just as reassurance, as proof that they’ll be fine, that this, them, won’t mess anything up, including themselves.

“And I’m not going to get sick,” Jonny continues, hooking his chin on Patrick’s shoulders. “We’ll be careful. We’ll only ever do things that we know are completely risk free, and only ever if and when you are comfortable with them.” He presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek, causing Patrick to sigh, his eyes fluttering close as he leans into the touch. “And if you never want to do anything, if this-” He squeezes Patrick tightly. “-is all we ever have, then it’ll be enough for me, yeah? Because sex isn’t what a relationship is about. Not for me anyway.”

“You are not gonna miss it?” Patrick asks, quietly, covering Jonny’s hands with his, Jonny’s breath tickling his neck.

“Not as much as I’d miss you,” Jonny says honestly, causing Patrick to flush, ducking his head. “It’s not as important as knowing that you want to be with me, that we won’t just be in each other’s lives, that it’s going to be _our_ life, that it’s us, not you and me. That’s what’s important to me.”

“Yeah,” Patrick manages to get out, voice thick with emotion and amazement at Jonny for being able to speak so freely about his feelings, not just put them into words but say them out loud to the person they concern.

It’s something Patrick wishes he was able to do more, maybe then he couldn’t just agree with Jonny but truly say it back, tell him that he loves him, that he wants to be there for Jonny the way Jonny has been there for him, that he wants a _them_ too, so badly, and that he’s pretty sure it would have killed him to ever not see Jonny for as long as it had been when Patrick had been in Biel. When he thinks about the next offseason, whenever it may start, the prospect of spending it apart from Jonny for more than a few weeks makes Patrick feel all kinds of terrible. He wants this, Jonny in his space, this life forever, and not just for movie night once a week.

“I’m scared,” he tells Jonny, whispers it into his neck when they are lying in Patrick’s bed (or is it theirs now?) later that night, darkness engulfing them.

“Me too,” Jonny mumbles back, squeezing Patrick’s hand slightly where it’s resting on Jonny’s chest, his arm wrapped over his waist, Jonny’s back warm and strong against Patrick’s front.

“Yeah?” Patrick asks, a little surprised.

Jonny doesn’t seem scared, especially not when it comes to them. He put himself out there several times (times Patrick noticed, and times he didn’t), seemingly unafraid and confident. Patrick is pretty certain, if their roles had been reversed, he would have died of shame and fear a thousand times. They sure as hell wouldn’t be where they are right now. In bed together. God, Patrick is so fucking lucky.

“Yeah,” Jonny answers, with a soft laugh. “I’m scared all the time.”

“Then how?” Patrick whispers, his lips ghosting over the warm skin in the nape of Jonny’s neck. “How do you always say this stuff, and- Put yourself out there?”

This time, Jonny’s reply isn’t immediate, like he has never really thought about why he always manages to be so brave, despite the fear he claims to have.

“I don’t know,” Jonny says softly, not sounding very bothered by it. “You’re just worth it, I guess.”

“Oh.” Patrick blushes, glad for the darkness and their positions so Jonny can’t see the stupid smile and blush that creep onto his face.

“Okay,” he whispers, daring to press a kiss to Jonny’s neck.  _You too,_  he thinks, hoping that Jonny will somehow understand.  _You’re worth it too, being this scared._

 

***

 

“What’s up with you two?” Duncs asks about ten seconds after Jonny and Patrick have walked into the locker room the next day.

He’s squinting at them, like he can somehow smell that Patrick woke up with his head on Jonny’s chest and their legs entangled, and that they had brushed their teeth together, side by side, making dumb faces at each other in the mirror whenever one caught the other smiling too sappily.

“Nothing,” Patrick scoffs, hoping that no one notices the red tips of his ears or the fact that he can’t stop himself from glancing at Jonny, lip caught between his teeth.

“Nothing my ass,” Duncs says, shooting them both one long glance. “You look different.”

Patrick squirms a little bit, but Jonny, blank face and monotone ready, keeps his cool.

“Next thing you tell me, I’m glowing,” Jonny says dryly, stroking his very flat and toned stomach, causing Seabs to let out a loud cackle, wrapping Jonny up in a brotherly choke hold for a few seconds, causing the whole locker room to join in, poking fun at Jonny and joking around, because apparently nothing is funnier than the idea of Jonny being pregnant (by Lindsey, some propose until Jonny informs them that they aren’t together anymore). The focus is completely shifted away from Patrick and he’s thankful for that. He loves being the center of attention but not in a situation like this, when he things are still so new and 80% of the people surrounding them can’t ever know anyway. Still, he sort of wants to kiss Jonny. He doesn’t and he won’t, but as he watches Jonny joke around with their friends, laugh out loud in the way that has him throw his head back and his eye crinkle, he wants to. He really, really wants to.

 

***

 

Patrick is pretty sure that Duncs and Seabs have them figured out by the end of the week. It’s nothing they say or do, because objectively, Patrick and Jonny are acting the same way they have three days ago, but something still must be different enough to be spotted, at least by two guys who’ve known them pretty much for as long as they’ve known each other.

“I’m okay with it, you know,” Duncs says, as they climb the stairs to their flight to Anaheim.

His voice is a low mumble and they are the last in line, before them Jonny and Seabs who are in deep conversation about the penalty kill of the Ducks, so technically, there’s no risk of anyone hearing, and even if they did, Duncs hasn’t said anything conspicuous, but Patrick still tenses, throwing a glance 

over his shoulder, the words  _I don’t know what you are talking about_ , already on his lips.

Duncs gets there first though. “You and Jonny. Better late than never, eh?”

Patrick blushes, glancing at the back of Jonny’s head. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he still says, trying to fight down the corners of his mouth that very insistently want to curl upwards.

Duncs has never really been one of the people Patrick had imagined might react badly to him being gay, but he couldn’t have been 100% sure either.

“Sure,” Duncs says, clapping him on the back. “Tell that to Seabs and his excitement about him and Dayna finally having someone to have double dates with again.”

“We don’t do double dates,” Patrick blurts out, biting his tongue a second too late.

Duncs quirks an eyebrow at him.

Blushing, Patrick looks down at his feet. “We haven’t really been at all yet. As us. As- On a date.”

But they are going to. They are finally in LA slash Anaheim with a few gameless days following, the ideal opportunity to make use of Jonny’s birthday gift for Patrick, his winter trip to Disneyland. It could be argued that end of February, beginning of March isn’t exactly winter but Patrick couldn’t care less. He’s going on a date. With his boyfriend. Who is Jonny. Jonathan fucking Toews. It’s a bit surreal. If anyone had told Patrick three months ago that he’d be this happy this soon, he would have tried having them declared insane.

But he _is_ happy, so fucking happy. Well, except for that one minor part where Jonny has been amazing about the whole kissing no sexual touching thing, even when they both woke up with morning wood the other day, and Patrick had been thinking about kissing Jonny the entire fucking time.

He thinks about it when he wakes up, limbs tangled with Jonny’s. He thinks about it when he’s making eggs and Jonny is patting into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes that are still sticky with sleep, not even managing a good morning and instead wrapping his arms around Patrick for a quick hug before mumbling something unintelligible. He thinks about it when Jonny is all sweaty from pedaling twenty hardcore minutes on the bike or when Jonny winces at the way his back cracks before he gets to do his yoga routine. He thinks about it when Jonny tosses him the keys to drive them to practice and when they crawl into bed at night, and every time the words ‘I love you’ don’t quite make it out.

He doesn’t think about it when he takes his meds. Or he does, but not with a swooping, fuzzy feeling, but with nausea uncurling in his stomach.

He’s been on the CDC website a couple of times, like Dr. Terry had suggested, and rationally he knows that kissing Jonny, as long as they are both healthy, without and open wounds or something in their mouths, should be absolutely fine, virtually without risk, and yet, Patrick can’t do it. He just thinks about it, about Jonny’s lips on his, thinks about pushing his tongue into Jonny’s mouth and them moving together like they had done before, countless of times. Maybe it would be easier if they never had kissed, if Patrick didn’t know how good it was, how much he loves it, but he does, so maybe he’s stuck with it, this craving settled deep in his stomach, replacing the loneliness he’d felt there for so long.

 _I want to kiss you,_  Patrick thinks when Jonny buys him a pair of Mickey Mouse ears at the entrance, placing them on Patrick’s curls with a shit eating grin that has Patrick roll his eyes, calling Jonny a dork and informing him about the ears look ridiculous. They both know Patrick will be treasuring them forever.

They are still in public though, so Patrick has another reason not to, because they may be in Southern California where not many care about hockey, but some still do, and Jonny and him aren’t exactly the most unknown players, so anything explicitly not friendship-y, out in the daylight, is not in the cards.

They still hold hands in the darkness of one of the ‘spooky’ rides, and they still lock ankles under their tugged away table in one of the restaurants. They also walk a little too closely and Patrick is pretty sure that how he looks at Jonny is not very platonic, but it is what it is, and despite it being February, it gets reasonably full at some point, so walking close together should start seeming more and more natural even in the eyes of an onlooker.

They eat a lot of candy, or Patrick does, trying to convince Jonny to take a bit here and there because ‘C’mon, Jonny, it’s Disneyland’, and go on a lot of rides, because neither of them gets sick from them and it’s a great chance to hold hands without anyone else seeing. Patrick also gets pictures with both Ariel and Tinker Bell, which he both texts his sisters immediately, earning himself a bunch of jealous ‘Booos’ in return that make him grin even harder. One a whim, he texts them a picture of Jonny too as Jonny is climbing into one of the spinning cups, where Patrick is already waiting because for a professional athlete, Jonny can be pretty damn ungainly and clumsy when it comes to his long legs. He only adds a “<3” for a caption, and then ignores the way his phone buzzes and buzzes the entire ride. He won’t confirm anything. Not yet.

Jonny comes off looking a little pale around the nose because maybe Patrick overdid it a bit with the extra spinning.

“I told you not to do that,” Jonny says, sounding a little bit miserable, as they sit down on a bench off the main road.

“How was I supposed to know that’d get you sick,” Patrick argues, stroking Jonny’s head once when he’s pretty sure no one is looking. “You didn’t get sick on any of the roller-coasters.”

He feels a little bit bad, but Jonny doesn’t look like he’s really about to puke, so Patrick guesses a bit of amusement won’t land him in the doghouse.

“Because I told you not to do that,” Jonny says, slouching over a bit to rest his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, while Patrick sympathetically pets his shoulder. “And it’s the spinning, in one place. I’m not good with that.”

“Aww, poor Jonny,” Patrick teases. “That why you never do a spin-o-rama?”

“I never do a spin-o-rama because I’m not that good of a skater, you know that,” Jonny says, sitting back with a groan, blinking his eyes back open. “You are an awful person. Doing this to your boyfriend.”

 _I want to kiss you_ , Patrick thinks again, but they are still in public, and Patrick still has HIV, and it’s still an abysmal idea, so he doesn’t, he just holds out his hand for Jonny to take to pull him up into a standing position while proclaiming optimistically: “C’mon, a bit of walking will help you feel better.”

“Doubt it,” Jonny says, but he still gets up, throwing an arm over Patrick’s shoulder and lets himself be lead to the next row of attractions.

They forgo the roller-coasters and carousels for now, instead deciding to go and check out the more carnival-like sections of the park, where Patrick almost wins Jonny a giant Dori plushie but ends up with a small one on a key chain instead. Jonny still takes it and promptly uses to replace the generic metal one he’s had on his keys for the past twelve years. If Patrick remembers correctly.

By the time Patrick has found yet another cotton candy stand (this one has it in purple), Jonny is already looking much better, and while he refuses the cotton candy, he does let himself be convinced to buy a gingerbread in form of mickey mouse with tons of frosting on it, which they share as they slowly make their way in the direction of the main area where the firework is supposed to be starting soon. Now that it’s getting darker each minute, the lanterns aside the paths flicker to life one by one, giving the whole place an extra bit of fairytale charm.

“I love this, you know,” Patrick says as they stop near one of the bigger trees to the side, not really wanting to get into the middle of the crowd. He isn’t looking at Jonny, eyes focused at the castle, illuminated by purple light.

“Disneyland?” Jonny says, wrapping one arm around Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick gladly leans in, sneaking his arm around Jonny’s waist under his jacket. “I’m glad. Wouldn’t want to screw up your birthday present.”

“Yeah, Disneyland,” Patrick agrees, turning to look at Jonny, and how dark his eyes appear in this light, dark, and warm, and endlessly deep. “Disneyland. Being here with you.” He takes a deep breath, looking away the moment Jonny turns his face to look at him. “You,” Patrick adds, voice a tiny bit shaky. “I’m- I’m happy.”

Patrick has no idea if this counts, saying it disjointed like this, but it sure feels like it counts with how much Patrick’s heart is racing, and when he looks at Jonny, glances at him because he can’t look, but can’t not look either, it seems like Jonny thinks it counts too.

 _I love you_ , Patrick thinks, tasting the words on his lips, while above them the first fireworks lighting up the night sky.

“I love you,” he says, just to make sure, to have it count, to really say it, be brave like Jonny, who’s been brave so many times for Patrick, despite being scared, despite rejection. Why? Because to him Patrick is worth it. Patrick wants to show that to him, Jonny is worth it too, even if it takes him a little while longer to get there, to be brave too. He swallows, forcing himself to make eye contact. “It’s not new either.”

“No?” Jonny asks softly, his lips curling up the slightest bit.

For a moment, the bright pop of color on the sky illuminates his face in the most magical way. It’s like they don’t even exist, not really, or- No. It’s the world outside that doesn’t exist. Right now it’s just them, everything else, hockey, their friends, their families, the virus, it’s all stripped away and it’s just Patrick and Jonny and this bone deep connection that they are finally calling by name.

“No,” Patrick says, thinking  _I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you, I want to kiss you, I want to kiss you._

And because in that moment, the world and all its problems doesn’t exist, Patrick does.

He gets onto his tiptoes, laces his arms around Jonny’s neck and instead of pressing their foreheads together like they have been doing so much instead of kissing, he presses his lips to Jonny’s, right there in the darkness under their tree, the night above them colored in light that neither of them have eyes for.

“What are you doing?” Jonny mumbles, voice confused and tender, eyes remaining closed even when he pulls back, like he’s afraid Patrick did it by mistake, and Jonny doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It’s Patrick’s way out, because he knows without a doubt that Jonny wouldn’t push it, he wouldn’t hold it against Jonny. They’d go back to their forehead touches and it’d be fine, but-

“What I want,” Patrick breathes, taking Jonny by the face to tug him back down, kissing him with just as much tenderness as before. This time Jonny doesn’t move back, instead he pulls Patrick closer, lets Patrick tug at his collar while he cups Patrick’s jaw, deepening the kiss in a way that has heat pool in Patrick’s stomach.

“What you want,” Jonny echoes, dragging his lips over Patrick’s kissing him like he’s been starving for it and maybe he has because Patrick definitely has, or at least that’s how it feels like, his blood singing with Jonny’s touch, his body wanting more, more, more and finally getting it, finally allowing himself to take. He’s saying yes again, yes to Jonny, to this, them, everything. He’s saying yes because the world doesn’t exist and nothing has ever felt as right as this moment, as Jonny’s lips on his.

“Yeah, what I want,” he whispers back, feeling Jonny shudder against him.

 

***

 

Patrick has never minded kissing his hook ups and it had been fun most of the time too, but never has kissing felt better than with Jonny. It’s even better now than it had been during their rookie year, and they had kissed a lot back then. Just like they are kissing a lot now too, because it turns out, even after returning to the real world, the magic of Disneyland disappearing behind the park’s gates, Patrick still wants, and now that he’s given in once, he can’t give it up again. It’s a dangerous path, he knows, because kissing could lead to making out and making out could lead to sex and Patrick is not on board with that, but whenever he tries to pull back, get himself into check again and put a lock on the kissing thing, he just looks at Jonny and his so damn kissable lips and he knows that he’s been fighting a losing battle.

He asks Jonny every time they wake before they kiss good morning if Jonny has any sores in his mouth, if his gums are bleeding for whatever reason, because he knows what’s going on in his mouth and he technically knows if he’s fine, Jonny should be fine too, even if he has sores in his mouth, but he just has to ask. Sometimes Jonny just groans into his pillow and swats Patrick away, answering half an hour later after he’s had his coffee. Sometimes he answers Patrick with a kiss, sometimes he just rolls his eyes, sometimes he gives a soft and empathic yes, _yes, we can_ kiss. Patrick is so glad that Jonny is Jonny and so cool about Patrick struggling with this.

It shouldn’t be a surprise of course, because Jonny did promise Patrick that he’d be fine if they never kissed, that he’d never want to do anything that could make Patrick uncomfortable, that he’s more than fine with Patrick being in the driver’s seat here, but it’s still a little bit thrilling when Patrick gets to see these promises come true in the flesh. Jonny never pressures him, never initiates any kissing before Patrick has asked his question and he never tries to move things along to something closer to sex, respecting Patrick’s hard no in that area.

He had asked once, one of the nights after Disneyland, asking hesitantly if sex was something he wanted too, and Patrick had given him a sure no, and that had been it, because back then, Patrick really hadn’t wanted sex. Sex in theory yes, but it hadn’t been like the kissing, it hadn’t been him looking at Jonny and thinking  _I want to fuck you_ , at any given opportunity despite Jonny being objectively hot. It just hadn’t been something Patrick wanted, not feeling comfortable with the thought of actually doing it. He still barely jerks off and when he does, he always disinfects his hands afterwards and puts the tissues he used to clean up in airtight plastic bags. It’s a bit nuts, but it makes him feel better, and according to Jonny, that’s what’s most important.

The most important thing though, or rather what pushes itself back into the foreground again in March, is hockey and the race for the playoffs. Patrick has been giving his best all season but at times his best hadn’t been  _the_ best, his mind too preoccupied with his diagnosis and everything, but hockey is still his passion, still his everything and thank god Jonny feels the same. They both pour everything they have into the game, and some days they are too tired to even watch a movie, just collapsing into bed after having dinner, a mumbled ‘I love you’, and a peck on the lips being all they need to end their day.

The Hawks aren’t bad this year, in no way as abysmal as they were last year, since, well they are still actually  _in_  the race, but playoffs are far from secured, and Patrick knows from experience that a lot can change in those last few weeks ,and they have to move heaven and hell to make sure that it’ll change in their favor. They’d be satisfied with a wildcard spot but what they _want_ is an entirely different story.

At the beginning of the season Patrick had sworn himself he’d get the Hawks back into the game, back to being contenders, proving wrong everyone who’s saying their era is already over. They still have it. They have the experience in himself, and Duncs and Seabs, and Jonny, and they have the energized youth and raw talent in Brinksy, and Schmaltzy and other guys they’ve acquired over the year. They are a good team and while they might not make it all the way, Patrick can feel that they at least have a round or two in them, if not more.

There’s another reason too, for why Patrick wants this so badly, wants to make the playoffs (and not flunk out in the first round like they did in 2017) with everything that he has, apart from the never ending hunger every player in the NHL has for the cup. It’s a selfish reason, Patrick knows, but he just wants to prove, to himself and to all the people that’d lobby for his exclusion from the league if his diagnosis ever came out, that a player can make it in the Stanley Cup playoffs even as gay and HIV positive. He wants to prove that he’s still him, that he can still get his team there, even with a bunch of pills he has to take daily, and check-ups every few months to make sure his immune system isn’t crashing.

Jonny says that Patrick doesn’t have to prove anything to anyone, but he still gets it.

Jonny has his own demons to battle and points to prove. He has made it to only 20 goals so far and while that’s good, it’s not the best and it’s not enough to shut up the people who call Jonny overpaid, and used up, and overrated for everything he does. It doesn’t help that Jonny’s back is acting up again, more and more as the season comes to a close, and Patrick giving him massages after games, Jonny doing his yoga, getting shots, and working with the trainers, only does so much. It’s not enough for Jonny not to have to sit out the last six games of the season, and Patrick can tell that it kills him, sitting on the couch at home or the press box while Patrick and his boys fight tooth and nail for every point, clawing their way into the playoffs bit by bit, point by point.

They clinch, two days before the end of the regular season, not out of their own strength but because Dallas miraculously beats Nashville but loses against Buffalo, which isn’t the way Patrick wanted it to happen, but he’s damn glad that it does. In is in. In means everything is possible.

 

***

 

Their first playoff win since 2016 makes Patrick feel ecstatic.

It’s like he’s 21 again, getting his first taste of winning on the big stage. It’s a bit of a cliché thing to say by now, but it’s true: There’s no hockey like playoff hockey, and, as Patrick had realized before but is truly letting himself feel now for the first time, there’s nothing like playing playoff hockey with the person you love. Having Jonny on the ice with him when Patrick scores is the best fucking feeling and jumping into his arms feels better than any of the other crushing hugs he receives. He loves his boys, but he loves  _his_  boy the most.

Jonny hadn’t played for the first game, which they lost in Minnesota in Overtime, his back still bothering him, but he gears up with them for game 2 and yeah, maybe Patrick is prone to reading into things, but Jonny is back, Patrick is on his wing, and they win the game 4-1, making the home crowd roar and boo like it’s the Stanley Cup final, not game 2 of round 1. Maybe that’s just Patrick’s imagination, but it’s still electrifying, and going back to Chicago for game 3 and 4, Patrick feels absolutely pumped, along with the rest of the team.

No matter what, they won’t get sweeped, and with how dominantly they won game 2, they might even stand a chance of making it to round 2, which is something Jonny tells them in one of his Captain speeches, reminding them to savor the confidence they took home with them from Minnesota and utilize it on home ice but not let it get to their heads. The series is tied after all, and they are still at least three games away from making it to round 2 for the first time since 2015. But a win is a win and you should take what you can get.

“Great speech, baby,” Patrick tells him later that night, lacing his arms around Jonny’s neck, letting Jonny kiss him with his chapped lips, because Jonny still doesn’t believe in chap sticks.

Or he does, but he doesn’t like all the chemicals, and artificial stuff that goes into it. When Patrick told Jess, she suggested one of these 100% natural lip balms with bee wax and stuff. Patrick had made a mental note to get Jonny one but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet, with playoffs starting and everything.

“You liked it?” Jonny asks, smiling tentatively, because that’s Jonny for you. Unlike Patrick he won’t admit to fishing for compliments, but he does it just as much.

“I did just say that, didn’t I?” Patrick teases, nipping at Jonny’s lips, smiling at the way Jonny lays his arm around his waist, thumb brushing over the bare skin where Patrick’s shirt has ridden up.

He’d never go further and Patrick is glad for it, for the absolute trust he gets to have in Jonny not pushing an inch over the limits he’s set. If you ask Jonny, anything that might or might not happen between them is up to Patrick, and right now, Patrick doesn’t want anything to happen, not feeling comfortable with it.

He’s thought about it, now and then, mostly over the last week. Jonny’s birthday is coming up and Patrick had remembered that during his rookie year, he’d given Jonny a blowjob and called it a gift, even though with them fooling around as much as they had, a blowjob could have hardly qualified as anything out of the ordinary. It had been lazy and a little bit douchey but Jonny had liked it and-

Well. Once Patrick had thought about it, about 2008 him gifting Jonny a blowjob for his birthday, the thought had remained stuck in his head, and this time it  _would_  be special. Patrick just isn’t sure if he’s ready. Some days he looks at Jonny and he’s sure that he wants it, wants to go out and buy condoms and go for it. Other days he’s so glad whenever Jonny doesn’t go any further than kissing, so he hadn’t brought it up, hasn’t settled on it. He got a real gift as back up anyway. It’s not as spectacular as Jonny’s Disneyland gift, but Patrick still thinks he’ll like the French indoor gardening book Patrick got him (after conferring with Andree several times).

“Didn’t I just say that?” Patrick repeats, playfully, licking his lips.

Jonny just hums, not jumping to the bait, not admitting to his blatant fishing action, just nuzzling Patrick’s neck, kissing the sensitive skin there gently.

“You think we can make it?” Patrick asks then, cradling the back of Jonny’s head, tilting his head back a little to give Jonny better access. “To round 2?”

Patrick knows what Jonny said in the locker room and he knows what they are saying to the media, but he also knows that what you think in the privacy of your own head, can be an entirely different story. In 2016, Patrick had felt it deep in his bones that they wouldn’t make it far and they hadn’t. Jonny had told him in a quiet moment then, after it all had been over, that he’d felt it too, that this just hadn’t been their year. It’s not something you’d ever say in the room, or even to the team in general, but Patrick and Jonny, they’ve always been different with each other.

“I think we can, yeah,” Jonny says after a moment of consideration, looking up at Patrick, his hands rubbing up and down Patrick’s thighs. He’s got a semi, Patrick can feel it under his ass where he’s straddling Jonny, but it’s nothing that freaks Patrick out yet. “I don’t know if we will, but we definitely 

could.”

“Yeah,” Patrick grins, bringing their lips together for another kiss. “Me too, Captain. You gonna get us there?”

“If I get the help from my star winger,” Jonny answers, eyes twinkling.

Patrick bites his lip, cheeks flushing. Jonny praising his talent has never grown old, and it sure as hell isn’t now. “I think that can be arranged.”

Jonny smiles up at him, eyes dark and fond, but there’s more to it. Patrick can still feel Jonny’s hardness pressing against his ass, and while it can’t be urgent with how calm Jonny is and relaxed, not even grinding up, or looking particularly fazed, it’s there. It’s there and Patrick isn’t upset. He likes it even, likes the physical proof that Jonny wants him.

He knows of course, that Jonny is being great about Patrick’s whole sex aversion, because that’s just who Jonny is, a respectful, perfect, sweet guy. It’s not because he isn’t attracted to Patrick anyway. Still though, it’s nice to have proof. And maybe Patrick is being unfair, maybe he’s a little high of their win, of their conversation, of being close to Jonny, but he grinds down a little bit, just to see a flash of arousal disrupt the fondness in Jonny’s eyes for the fraction of a moment.

Jonny looks up at him, a tiny frown appearing between his brows, as his hands stroke up and down Patrick’s sides gently.

“Patrick?” is all he asks, voice low and careful, while a flush spreads on his cheeks.

Patrick bites his lip. “Yes?”

Jonny squints at him, hands stilling. “Do you…” He pauses, studying Patrick’s face with that concentrated look of his that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. “Do you want to-”

He should say yes.

Patrick knows he should say yes. He’s the one who grinded down. He’s the one who straddled Jonny. And in his head, it’s as easy as a nod, as a smile and a ‘yes’, and their lips meeting as Patrick let’s Jonny slip his hand into Patrick’s pants and-

And he can’t. He should, but he can’t.

Jonny would get mad at him for even thinking the word _should_ in connection to making himself have sex again, but-

“Patrick?” Jonny asks again, his frown deepening. “You lost in there?”

He taps his fingers against Patrick’s forehead.

Patrick rolls his eyes, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Jonny just quirks an eyebrow, his hands picking up their rubbing motion from before again.

“I don’t want to,” Patrick admits with a sigh, leaning down to give Jonny an apologetic peck on the lips. “I’m sorry.”

Jonny scrunches up his nose, looking as affronted as Patrick expected. “Don’t say sorry.”

“I am though,” Patrick insists, causing Jonny to pull a face. “You are turned on and I like that, I want- I want you to be turned on, but-”

“But you don’t want to have sex?” Jonny finishes for him.

Blushing, Patrick nods.

“You know that’s okay, right?” Jonny asks, and it’s a rhetorical question, because they share a bad constantly, they spend pretty much 24/7 together. There have been boner encounters, so Patrick _knows_ what Jonny is going to say next.

“Someone having an erection doesn’t automatically require any sort of sex from anyone involved,” Jonny says expectedly, because he’s sweet and predictable and a real sucker for treating Patrick in a way that makes him feel all precious and loved, but right now it’s also frustrating Patrick a bit.

He loves Jonny for being like this, and he _doesn’t_ want to have sex. At the same time though, he wants some sort of sex to happen. Involving Jonny’s erection. And how the fuck is he supposed to explain that? He knows what he doesn’t want. But he also knows that he wants something. Something where Jonny has an orgasm, because of Patrick. Patrick just can’t bring himself to be in anyway physically involved. That’s a thing solely reserved for his imagination and memories.

Again, he bites his lip, looking down at Jonny, his fingers absently stroking the short hairs in the back of Jonny’s neck.

“I want-” he starts, breaking off when the words don’t come.

“You want…” Jonny picks it up for him, voice trailing off as he waits for Patrick to fill in words he still doesn’t have.

He pulls a face. “I don’t know. Something.”

“You want …something,” Jonny echoes, brows furrowed.

Patrick flicks his ear. “Yes. But I don’t fucking know what. I don’t want to have sex. I can’t. But I want you to- To want me.” His blush deepens and he sort of wants to wipe the pleased grin on Jonny’s lips off his face. “Shut up. I want you to come, alright? And have it be because of me. But I don’t want to be involved. I know it’s fucked, okay?”

Jonny is quiet for a few beats, eyes distant before finding Patrick’s again. Tilting his head, his fingers find the hem of Patrick’s shirt, toying with it.

“So you want me to masturbate?” he says eventually, after what feels like half an eternity to Patrick, but fuck, that’s it. Patrick wants Jonny to masturbate. He wants him to masturbate and think of Patrick. It sounds stupid, but-

“Because I can do that,” Jonny continues, a grin having slipped back onto his face. “I can masturbate for you any day. Got a lot of practice.”

Letting out a bark of laughter, Patrick shakes his head. He doesn’t want it any day. “I want you to do it now.”

It’s a thrill going through Patrick, watching Jonny’s eyes darken at his words, his dick firming up again a little, still under Patrick’s ass, right where he can feel it.

“You want me to do it now?” Jonny asks, voice slipping that extra bit lower, causing Patrick’s throat to go dry. “In front of you? So you can look at me?” He licks his lips. “So I can look at you?”

Patrick stares at him, heat going through him.

He knew he didn’t want to have sex. He knew he wanted something. And Jonny, just like that, figured out what that something could be, and fuck, if it isn’t what Patrick wants, and it’s sex, it is, but it’s also sex Patrick feels entirely comfortable with because he’ll watch Jonny. He’ll look at him and that’ll be it. It’s the most risk free anything could be and Patrick _wants_. He wants it so much it’s stupid.

“I want that,” Patrick says hoarsely, his heart beating so loudly, he’s sure Jonny must be able to hear it. “I really fucking want that. I want you to jerk off in front of me. That’s what I want.”

The way the corners of Jonny’s mouth curl up might be the hottest thing Patrick has ever seen.

“Then I will,” Jonny says. And he does.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

They win both games in Chicago, only to drop the ball in game five in Minnesota and it leaves everyone frustrated, because they almost fucking had it. They were three periods away from making it to the second round and yet they screwed it up with clumsy line changes, insufficient power play and unnecessary penalties. But it’s not the end and they all know it, the veterans more than the rookies.

Patrick remembers being wide eyed like them, so absolutely ecstatic after every win and absolutely crushed by every loss. Now he knows better, now he’s one of the guys who knows to celebrate a win but not lose sight of the fact that the battle is far from over, just like he knows to mourn a loss and be frustrated over it, but keep in mind that a single loss doesn’t make a playoff exit on its own. Once upon a time he and Jonny used to be the guys who needed to be reassured about these things, now it’s them doing the reassuring. First in the locker room with the rookies, and then later at home with each other.

They always go home together. Patrick hasn’t slept alone at his place for the last three months he’s pretty sure, and neither has Jonny at his. They are kind of alternating between places, migrating from Jonny’s to Patrick’s and back once or twice a week. It just happens. Sometimes it’s because Jonny says he has a couple of ingredients at his place, or Patrick realizes he still has a couple episodes of house hunters saved on his DVR that he really wants to watch.

With anyone else, in any other relationship (not that Patrick really had any of those) he’d worry about them moving too fast. They’ve only really been dating since February, and it’s not even quite May yet, but it just feels right. And it’s Jonny. It seems to be the only logical thing, the natural extension of what they were before, to pretty much move in together, just without deciding on a place just yet. It doesn’t feel like moving too fast, it feels like something that has been a long time coming and now they are finally doing it.

Patrick’s sisters are delighted by the news he officially gives them the day after they come back from their loss in Minnesota, and they ask why he’s skyping them from Jonny’s place  _again._  They’ve been speculating since the Disneyland date, but Patrick never confirmed anything.

They are all happy for him, because they’ve always liked Jonny a lot and they’ve been trying to get Patrick to date for ages. Jacquie confesses that she’s a little bit sad because she used to have a bit of a crush on Jonny and that it’s unfair that Patrick isn’t compliant to the ‘no hockey players’ dating rule he gave them. But it’s all in good fun, and Patrick feels energized and optimistic for the next game, especially since his parents are going to come by to support him. Even if that means Jonny and him have to spend the night apart.

“I think we’ll live,” Jonny says with a laugh, when Patrick tells him about it with a pout, earning himself a slap to the arm, because he could at least pretend to be crushed by the prospect of sleeping in a bed without Patrick. Even if they’ve already done that at the end of the season when Jonny was on IR with his back and didn’t travel with the team as much.

“You’ll miss me terribly,” Patrick announces and Jonny shrugs, like ‘yeah’, and It kind of melts Patrick because Jonny’s ability to just be straight forward with his feelings never fails to amaze him.

“Me too,” he admits, pressing a kiss to Jonny’s lips, before grabbing his keys from the sideboard by Jonny’s door. “See you tomorrow at the rink?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, hands buried in his pockets, smiling softly. “Say hi to your mom and dad from me.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Patrick says, giving Jonny a mock salute. “Will do.”

 

***

 

He does, just as he promised, and he does miss Jonny, terribly, just as he predicted. It’s a bit ridiculous but as soon as he’s sure his parents are asleep in the guest bedroom, Patrick facetimes Jonny, and they talk for another hour, before finally saying good night for good. It doesn’t replace having Jonny next to him in bed, but it’s as close as they’ll get without either of them sneaking in through a metaphorical window like they are love struck teenagers. Which, maybe the love struck part, but definitely not the teenage part, given the fact that they are both thirty, and Jonny, in two days, even thirty-one.

“You look happier,” his mother comments the next day, when he walks into the kitchen, finding her preparing breakfast like Patrick usually would for Jonny. It’s a bit weird, but then again, it always takes Patrick a couple of days to get used to his parents’ presence in his life, whenever they drop in for a couple of days or weeks.

“Like- Today?” he asks, a little dumbstruck, because right now he doesn’t necessarily feel happier, with Jonny not being there to bitch about his alarm and the agony of having to wake up and be a real human in the real world.

“No, honey. In general,” she says, smiling at him. “Lately, when we call you, you are different. And your father says your game has been getting better again since winter. I assume these two things are connected?”

“Uh, yeah,” Patrick says, scratching his head.

He can’t really explain to her just how much his life has changed in the past seven months and how much happier he is, despite this one thing that made everything so much worse, his health, his game, everything. He can’t tell her that the reason Patrick is feeling better now, in every conceivable way, is Jonny. He can’t tell her because she wouldn’t understand, neither the HIV nor being gay nor what he and Jonny have. Telling her just isn’t an option, and while that pains Patrick, it’s also nothing new, unfortunately.

“I’ve been-” He clears his throat. “I’ve just been feeling good. I really think we can make it.” _Not all the way, but a little bit further for sure._

“Of course,” she says, wrapping him up in a hug. “You are working so hard, of course you can make it.”

Even after Patrick being in the game for over twenty years, eleven in the NHL, she still doesn’t get that sometimes working hard just isn’t enough. But Patrick has always been okay with that. It’s not his mom’s job to give an accurate prediction and estimate everything critically. It’s her job to be his mom, and moms are supposed to believe in you, and support you unconditionally. And that, he’s got down.

 

***

 

In hindsight, Patrick should have seen it coming. Things had been going too well and logically, things shouldn’t go well so soon after getting diagnosed with HIV. Patrick didn’t just get to keep his job, he only got supportive reactions from the people he told, he’s been responding well to treatment, he hasn’t been impacted in his play at all after getting over the initial mental breakdown, he got a  _boyfriend_ , and they didn’t just make the playoffs, they actually won the half of the games. They are one way away from proceeding to the second round.

Really, Patrick should have known that he wouldn’t keep on being so lucky.

It happens in the third.mThe Hawks are up two goals, but they all know that two goals are nothing, could melt away within seconds, and the Wild are dead set on not going down easy. They are fighting tooth and nail to get back into the game and it doesn’t feel in vain. At any given moment it seems like the game might slip through the Hawks’ fingers. It’d take just one moment of carelessness, one mistake, and the Wild could take it from them, push it to game 7.

Everyone’s nerves are wound tight, all of them watching the clock, the seconds trickling down not nearly fast enough, and Patrick isn’t immune to it. He’s jittery with energy, despite exhaustion from two and a half already brutal periods burning in his muscles. His eyes are glued to the puck, his mind focused on just one thing, scoring. He needs to score, needs to extend their lead, needs to get them there, needs to push them this extra bit, he needs to be his best, _the_ best, he needs to-

Maybe that’s why Patrick doesn’t see him. He flicks his wrist, feels the puck leave his tape and the next thing he knows is his world is spinning and him crashing face first into the ice.

A d-man, probably, hip checking him, his brain informs him too late, as Patrick lies there on the ice, dizzily, waiting for things to stop being so loud.

It takes him a second to realize that the buzzer went off. He scored. But their goal song isn’t playing.

Because Patrick is lying face down on the ice. And his mouth tastes like blood.

Oh god.

With shaky arms, Patrick pushes himself up, gets on his knees, eyes widening as he sees the blood drop from his mouth, joining the little pool that’s already spreading on the white of the ice. A wave of nausea overcomes him that has nothing to do with the dizziness from the hit.

There’s blood. His blood. On the ice. He’s bleeding, and-

“Kaner, you okay?” Schmaltzy asks, yells, and only then does Patrick realize that there’s someone trying to help him up, touching him and-

Schmaltzy took off his gloves. Why-

Patrick chokes.

 _Get off me_ , he wants to yell but he doesn’t get anything out, just a panicked gargling sound. He distantly realizes that he’s missing a tooth, and at least one more is loose, but- But Schmaltzy is trying to help him up and he’s got-

He got Patrick’s blood on his hand.

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” Patrick manages to hiss this time, tears already rising in his eyes, tears of fear and panic and guilt, and god, Schmaltzy is so young and he just wanted to help, and why did he take of his gloves? Why did Patrick not pay more attention, why didn’t he see-

“Step away,” someone says sharply, and thank god, Schmaltzy listens to the trainers. There’s two of them, helping Patrick to his feet, hands gloved in latex. They are exchanging worried glances, and one of them says something more to Schmaltzy, probably to come with them, but Patrick barely hears it over the rushing in his ears, and the pain radiating from his mouth.

“Jonny?” he chokes out, as they help him off the ice, leading him down the tunnel, because all of them know, there’s no way Patrick is returning to the game. He’s not Duncs who can just pull out his teeth and go back on the ice. He can’t because he’s bleeding, and Patrick’s blood is a health hazard for everyone around him.

“Jon’s on the ice,” one of the trainers tell him. “Talking to the officials.”

Patrick nods numbly. He knows that Jonny has to do that. Someone has to make sure things work. That things go the way they need to. That no one else touches Patrick’s blood, that play stays stopped, that- He needs to check if someone else got into contact with Patrick’s blood. Patrick didn’t pay attention, he had his head down, what if he missed it, and what if-

“Oh god,” he chokes out, barely able to keep his stomach from turning. “Oh god.”

“We’ll fix you up, Kaner,” one of the trainers says and suddenly Dr. Terry is there too, as well as one of the other doctors.

“Doc, what am I doing here?” Schmaltzy asks then standing around a little awkwardly, as they help Patrick on the treatment table, where they take of his helmet, and decide to cut him out of his jersey and underarmor as to not jostle his jaw too much before they know just how much he’s really hurt.

“Can I-” Schmaltzy gestures in the direction of the door.

Of course, Schmaltzy doesn’t get it, what he’s doing here, why they forced him down the tunnel as well. He wants to get back on the ice, he wants to play. It’s hard enough to drag a player off the ice who’s actually hurt, but Schmaltzy isn’t hurt. He doesn’t know that-

“I’m sorry,” Patrick sobs, words muffled by the swelling and blood in his mouth. “Nick, I’m sorry.”

“Schmaltz,” the second doctor says. “We need you to disinfect your hand. Now. Did you think us informing you all in December that you should avoid contact with other players’ bodily fluids, was just for fun? There’s an infection risk.”

Schmaltzy looks at him, more confused than anything, letting the doctor pour strong smelling disinfectant over his hands. “It’s just-” He looks at Patrick, a confused smile on his face. “I mean, it’s just blood?”

Patrick wants to cry, and maybe he is, his cheeks feel hot and wet, and he just- He shakes his head. “No, Schmaltzy. It’s  _my_  blood.”

Schmaltzy blinks, looking from Dr. Terry to Patrick and back. “So? It’s not like you are sick, I mean-”

“Schmaltzy,” Patrick chokes out, and something about his tone must give it away because Schmaltzy’s smile falls, making him look so incredibly young and lost.

“You’re sick?” He looks at his now bloodless hands.

“Does he have any cuts, open wounds on his hands?” Dr. Terry asks at the same time and Patrick watches, dread thrumming through his veins, how the other doctor turns and inspects Schmaltzy’s hands while Schmaltzy continues to stare at Patrick, like he still doesn’t get what is happening, but understands that something is going on, that by trying to help Patrick, he put himself at risk. Just what kind of risk, he doesn’t know yet.

“No,” the doctor says after a moment and Dr. Terry nods.

“That’s good,” he looks at both, Schmaltzy and Patrick. “That’s good. That means the risk of transmission is extremely low, if existent at all, especially with your current viral load, Patrick.”

“Viral load?” Schmaltzy asks, looking more and more like a lost puppy by the second. “Are you H-Kaner, what’s going on, what-”

Patrick closes his eyes, spitting out a bit of blood into the metal bowl he was offered by one of the doctors. He can’t look at Schmaltzy, not for this. If he could, he’d just leave, not say anything at all, but Schmaltzy deserves to know, he  _needs_  to know. Patrick can’t just- They can’t do this without telling him, so Patrick takes a deep breath.

“I’m HIV positive, Schmaltzy,” he says, swallowing thickly. “And you touched my blood.”

“Oh.” Schmaltzy looks at him, gears turning in his head. “HIV? You have it?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, glad when Dr. Terry takes over.

“HIV is something that can turn into AIDS, if it goes untreated. Kaner is receiving treatment, and through that treatment we were able to significantly lower the risk of transmission. You do not have any open wounds anywhere you came into contact with Kaner’s blood, so chances are close to 100% that you aren’t at risk. I don’t think it’s necessary, but if you want to, we can start you on PEP, just to be sure.”

“What’s PEP?” Schmaltzy asks, unsurprisingly, but he isn’t looking at Dr. Terry. His eyes are still stuck on Patrick.

“Post exposure prophylaxis,” Dr. Terry begins to explain. “I’ll prescribe you medication that you’ll be required to take daily for 28 days. This medication, could have side effects, such as-”

“But I didn’t-” Schmaltzy’s gaze finally flickers back to Dr. Terry. “But I didn’t like…lick it? So I’m- I should be fine, right? Because I don’t have any-” He waves his hands around. “-wounds?” He lets out a weird little laugh. “Like, we didn’t fuck. It should be fine?”

“Yes, the risk of transmission, is extremely low,” Dr. Terry agrees. “But you are still well within your rights, to request-”

“Can I play?” Schmaltzy cuts Dr. Terry off, and Patrick would laugh if he didn’t feel so utterly horrible. Typical hockey player. “Because if we are already missing Kaner…”

“You can play, yes,” Dr. Terry says slowly, and Schmaltzy honest to god, fist bumps.

“Fucking great, thanks doc,” he says, grinning as if he didn’t’ just-

Patrick stares at him. One little cut, one millimeter of scraped open skin, and Schmaltzy would be at risk of having contracted fucking HIV and he just- He doesn’t even seem to care. He’s just happy that the gets to go back out on the ice.

“I’ll ask if someone found your tooth, Kaner,” Schmaltzy says then, actually fucking walking over to pat Patrick’s shoulder like he’s- Like he’s not scared or disgusted of Patrick. It’s-

Patrick doesn’t understand. He stares after Schmaltzy until the door has fallen shut, then he stares at Dr. Terry.

“He’s really not at risk?” he asks, voice shaky. “He-”

“Unless he sucked on his fingers after touching your blood, no,” Dr. Terry says. “He’s not at risk. there weren’t any cuts or open wounds on his face either that he could have accidentally touched. Still, I’ll talk to him again after the game, give him more time to think about it. PEP is effective if it’s started within 72 hours after a possible infection. We’ve got a time.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, spitting out another bloody chunk of saliva. “Okay, okay, that’s- Okay.”

“Hey, it’s okay, Kaner,” Dr. Terry says, helping him lean back. “We knew this could happen. We’ve got a protocol. Schmaltz was just a misstep. There’s nothing you need to blame yourself for. Now lean back and let Dr. Baer check your teeth.”

 

***

 

It ends up being Jonny who brings Patrick’s tooth after the game, a worried crease between his brows, but a post win glow to his cheeks. He looks miles better than Patrick does. With his swollen and bruised mouth, the tooth gap right in the front of his lower jaw.

“How’s it looking, doc,” he asks, squeezing Patrick’s shoulder, as he fixes Dr. Terry with an inquisitive stare. “Does he need surgery?”

Dr. Terry shakes his head, scribbling something down and handing Patrick a box of pain medication that is supposed to be compatible with his HAART treatment. “Not right now, no. His jaw isn’t fractured and putting his tooth back in can wait until the swelling has gone down a bit. If you want to,” he looks at Patrick. “-we can schedule an appointment for you for after the playoffs, or for as soon as possible. Unless you want to take a page out of Ovechkin’s style book?”

He raises one eyebrow. He’s been trying to bring some humor ever since Schmaltzy walked out of the door and Patrick threw up from the stress. So far he’s only been marginally successful.

“I can’t play again until it’s all fully healed anyway, right?” Patrick asks miserably, leaning against Jonny who’s standing next to where Patrick’s sitting now, one arm wrapped around his shoulder. “Because there are-” He swallows, glancing up at Jonny. “Open wounds? In my mouth.”

“Yes,” Dr. Terry says. “Risk would still be low, but I want to play it safe. Until your mouth is completely healed and there are no more chances of bleeding, I won’t let you back onto the ice. I’m sorry, Kaner.”

“I understand,” Patrick says, and he does, but that doesn’t make it any easier. They made it into the second round, and yet, Patrick’s season is over. “Thanks, doc. I’d- I’d say as soon as possible then?”

“No problem,” Dr. Terry says, scribbling something down. “You are free to go home now, but please don’t hesitate to call if anything is the matter. Today was a shock for you, not just physically and if you need counselling, we will get you that.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, nodding. He doesn’t want counselling. He just wants to go home with Jonny and have Schmaltzy be okay. Glancing up at Jonny he asks: “Schmaltzy, is he-”

“I talked to him,” Jonny says, quietly, squeezing Patrick’s shoulder. He smells clean from his shower, but there’s still an underlying tone of sweat, like he hurried through it. “He’s fine. He won’t say anything to anyone, and he’s agreed to do PEP if it’ll make you feel better.”

“ _Me_?” Patrick echoes, turning to stare at Jonny. “If it makes me feel better? Is- does he understand? Does he get it? I mean-” Schmaltzy may not be the smartest but he’s in the upper third when it comes to hockey players, Patrick is pretty sure.

“He does understand, yeah,” Jonny says quietly.

Patrick eyes him quizzically. There’s more, he can tell. “What is it?”

“You know Schmaltzy has a younger sister, right?”

Patrick nods.

“Did you know that she came to Schmaltzy’s family as a toddler, through foster care?” Jonny continues and this time Patrick has to shake his head, now he didn’t know that. All he knows about Schmaltzy’s sister is that he loves her dearly, almost as much as Patrick loves his own sisters, if that was possible.

“Okay?” Patrick says, frowning at Jonny.

“She’s positive too, Patrick,” Jonny says, voice so low only Patrick could possibly hear him. “Schmaltzy said it was okay if I told you. It’s not a secret, just not something he advertises either. She got it from her mother through birth. Her mother didn’t know and- Can you imagine? She’s had this disease all her life.”

“Oh,” Patrick says eloquently, blinking at Jonny. that’s-

He doesn’t know what it is. It’s something. Horrible, for sure, for Schmaltzy’s sister and his family, to deal with something like this for so long, but it’s also- It’s selfish but to Patrick it also means that Schmaltzy is okay with it, with Patrick, despite the virus, and not just because he doesn’t understand. He  _does_ understand, better than Patrick does probably, from having deal with it in a secondary way for years.

“He also said, that if you wanted to, he could introduce you two to each other,” Jonny adds after a few moments of silence. “You know, to talk. It might help. He also feels dumb for not getting it why 

you were so freaked out about the blood and shit. Since he should know better, because of her.”

“I’ll-” Patrick clears his throat. “Yeah. I’ll think about it. I’m just-” He sighs. His mouth hurts and talking isn’t making it better, painkiller sonly doing so much. And he’s tired, he’s so fucking exhausted, mentally and physically. “Just take me home?” He tugs at Jonny’s sleeve. “Please?”

“Of course,” Jonny says softly, interlacing his fingers with Patrick’s. “Let’s get out of here, put some ice on your jaw, eh?”

He gently strokes the swollen line of Patrick’s jaw, using enough pressure to be felt, not enough to really hurt through the painkillers. Distantly Patrick wonders if he should be freaking out about this too, Jonny touching him so intimately in front of their doctor, but he’s in pain, he’s on drugs, his season is over and Jonny is being Jonny, and Patrick needs that so much. Needs _him_ so much.

“Yes, please,” he says tiredly, pushing himself to his feet. He eyes Jonny blearily. “And congrats. On winning. We did it.”

Jonny smiles, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s hair. Dr. Terry discreetly looks away where he’s typing away on his computer. By now, he probably knows anyway. “Yes,  _we_  did.”

 

***

 

“Oh shit,” Patrick blurts out eloquently when he and Jonny step out of the locker room and run right into Patrick’s parents.

He totally forgot about them. And about them staying at his place. And-

“Oh, sweetie,” His mother coos immediately, stepping forward to take a look at his jaw, even trying to pry open his lips.

She seems confused by Patrick flinching back when she tries to tug at his lip, but no. Patrick can’t have that. His lip is still split and he’s got still bleeding in his mouth where his tooth is missing, despite the cotton Dr. Terry put in there, and it’s just- He doesn’t want her to, even if it’s just her caring.

“Don’t do that, mom,” he asks, retreating further until his back bumps into Jonny, who’s giving Patrick’s parents an awkward wave.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she says, stroking his cheeks instead, ignoring the way Patrick shudders. “Does it hurt badly?”

“You didn’t come back out to finish the period,” his father notes, and Patrick nods, unable to keep his shoulders from slumping.

Normally he would have gone back out. Unless your jaw is broken, you go back out, and even then, staying out of the game is questionable, but that call hadn’t been Patrick’s. Things are different for him, he plays by different rules. Not that his father knows that.

“It’s okay, mom, I’ve got painkillers,” Patrick answers quietly, glancing at Jonny who’s got Patrick’s father fixed with a grim glare.

Jonny never liked it how hard Patrick’s dad rides him sometimes, which is pretty fucking ironic because no one is harder on anyone than Jonny on himself.

“Doctor’s call, dad,” Patrick mumbles. “It wasn’t up to me.”

“Mhm,” Patrick’s father says, and Patrick just knows they aren’t done with this yet. There’s more coming. Maybe not today, but definitely tomorrow. An awkward silence falls over them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kane,” Jonny says suddenly, a weird undertone to his voice. It takes Patrick a moment to tap it as Jonny’s media voice.

“Jon, I told you to call us Donna and Tiki,” Patrick’s mother says immediately and Jonny gives her a tight smile.

“Donna and Tiki,” Jonny corrects himself, looking a little constipated. “I hope I’m not imposing, but I asked Patrick if I could stay over at his place tonight. I’ve been having trouble with the electricity at my place due to some renovation mistake in the neighboring condo and they can’t fix it until tomorrow.” He gives them a sheepish, fake smile. “I know you two have dibs on Patrick’s guest bedroom, but I’d be content with the couch, if that was alright with you.”

Fuck, Patrick stares at Jonny. He’s so used to Jonny’s utter honesty with him, that he’d totally forgotten just how good of a liar Jonny can be when he has to. It’s pretty bizarre, especially considering how bad his acting in ads or when he tries to prank someone is. If Patrick didn’t know the truth now, he might just believe this bullshit.

“Of course, you are not imposing, Jon,” Patrick’s mother says, visibly smitten with Jonny’s politeness. “We would be delighted to have you, wouldn’t we, Patrick?”

“Yes,” Patrick says, too dumfounded to be bothered by his mother talking like she has any kind of claim over Patrick’s place. “We’d be delighted.”

Jonny smiles. “Great. Thanks a lot.”

 

***

 

“Do I have to call you Mr Bond now?” Patrick mumbles to Jonny, while his parents are already walking on into the living room, Patrick having stayed behind in the hallway on purpose. “That was some A+ lying.”

Jonny blushes a little, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “I couldn’t think of any other way we’d be able to spend the night together.” He pauses, then: “You want to, right?” He reaches out hesitantly, linking their pinkies together.

“I do, yeah,” Patrick says, throwing a glance over his shoulder before, tugging Jonny’s head down to lean their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t want to be without you right now. Even if-” He point to his lips. “–no kissing.“

“That’s okay,” Jonny says, because of course he does, and by now, Patrick knows that he means it. Jonny just wants to be with Patrick, and Patrick wants that too. He exhales once, closing his eyes for a moment before stepping back again, giving Jonny a sorry smile.

“Gotta entertain the parents,” he says and Jonny nods.

“We can order in, you think your mom would agree to that?”

“Maybe,” Patrick considers. “It’s worth a try.” Patrick loves his mother’s cooking but right now he’s just feeling like wonton soup and bed. That’s all he wants.

 

***

 

Patrick’s mom does agree to let them order food after throwing a critical glance into Patrick’s fridge, not finding much to make a soup out of.

Once the food is ordered she starts fussing over Patrick, giving him ice packs and getting him to get changed into more comfortable clothes, while Jonny takes it upon himself to busy Patrick’s dad and talk through the game, so by the time Patrick sits down on the couch with them, he’s wearing comfortable sweatpants and is holding an icepack to his mouth.

He’s mindful to keep his distance from Jonny when he sits down. It reminds him in a strange way of how he’d sat down on the couch next to Jonny when Jonny had made him get tested, too scared to touch or get closed, disgusted with himself and the possibility of having this virus. Now, months later with the certainty of having the virus but also being Jonny’s partner, it’s so much harder to stay away. Especially when Patrick is craving contact so much.

“You good, Buzz?” his dad asks and Patrick nods, managing a tired smile. “Where’s your mother?”

“She wanted to freshen up a bit,” he tells his dad, getting more comfortable by pulling his legs up on the couch with him. “Dunno what for though, it’s already late.”

His father just laughs. “You know how she is.”

“And it’s not that late,” Jonny, the traitor chimes in, smiling at Patrick. “We are just getting old.”

“We?” Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Only one of us is turning 31 in two days.”

“My mistake,” Jonny says with a laugh. “You are the personification of youth.”

“Damn right I am,” Patrick says, wincing as his yawn stretches his lip uncomfortably. “DeBrincat who? I’m the true rookie of this-”

“Patrick.”

Patrick breaks off, turning to find his mother standing in the doorway, a disconcerted look on her face. Her brows are creased in worry and there’s a weird line around her mouth that has Patrick shift a little bit closer to Jonny subconsciously.

“Mom?” he asks hesitantly, throwing a glance at Jonny and his father, both who look just as confused as Patrick feels. “What’s up?”

“What are these?” she asks, and only then does she pull three orange bottles of pills out of her pocket.

Three bottles that Patrick knows only too well. Because he uses them every morning and evening. He swallows. His mom didn’t freshen up in the guest bathroom, she used _his_. She used Patrick’s bathroom. And she didn’t just use it, she looked through the cabinets, because that’s what she does, she meddles, she snoops. And Patrick knows that, he just didn’t- Fuck he didn’t think. He looks at the bottles helplessly, his throat dry and yet sticky with words he doesn’t want or know how to say.

“Mom,” he eventually gets out, voice thick. “I’m- They are-”

He looks at Jonny. Jonny would lie for him, he knows, but- But how believable could it really be, coming from Jonny instead of Patrick, with Patrick already feeling and probably looking like he’s going to hyperventilate. She’s reading the label, but it won’t tell her anything, Patrick doesn’t think, if he didn’t know what it was, the words printed on the label wouldn’t tell him anything either.

He swallows, focusing on the dull throbbing in his jaw where his tooth is missing.

“Mom, it’s-”

“Are you sick?” his mother interrupts and Patrick closes his eyes.

If she could just let him try to _talk_. It’s hard enough to get himself to form words as it is, her pushing him isn’t helping.

“Yes, mom,” he admits, when she’s quiet long enough for him to answer. He opens his eyes again. “I’m taking them for- For something I have. A- A virus. Disease. A-”

“What are you talking about, son?” his father asks before Patrick can muster up the courage to say anything else, eyes searching.

It’s making Patrick feel a little bit backed into a wall, making it even harder to speak. Helplessly he turns to Jonny, a wordless plea in his eyes.

Of course Jonny understands.

“Patrick is on HAART, Highly Active Antiretroviral Therapy. That’s what these pills are for,” he gestures to the little pill bottles Patrick’s mother is still holding.

She looks as them, eyes wide and confused, before playing them on Patrick’s couch table and sitting down next to him. She takes his hand into hers. “Why do you need antiviral therapy, honey? It’s not cancer is it?”

“No, mom,” Patrick says, swallowing thickly. “It’s not cancer, it’s-”

Closing his eyes, Patrick takes another deep breath, steeling himself. It might be fine, he tells himself. He might get lucky, maybe his mom surprises him like Seabs had, and Schmaltzy and Q, and- It might be fine. It has to be, even if he rationally knows that she probably- She’s his mom. She’s his mom, and that has to count for something. It just has to.

“Mom, I’m HIV positive,” he says, having to force the words out. It’s not getting any easier to say them, no matter how often he has to. “I’m- I got diagnosed last fall and-”

His mother pulls back her hands, staring at him. “HIV?” she says, voice thin and brittle. “The AIDS?”

“It’s not-” Patrick tries, feeling tears rise in his eyes. “It’s HIV. I have HIV. AIDS is what it turns into if I don’t take my medication, but I am. I’m handling it mom. I swear, my viral load-”

She stands abruptly, rubbing her hands on her skirts.

Patrick doesn’t know if it’s on purpose or a subconscious thing, but it looks like she’s trying to rub his touch off, like he’s some kind of leper, like he’s- Infectious.

And he is, but-

“Mom,” he whispers, not daring to reach out. God, he wants to cry. This is what he was so afraid of. “Mom, please, listen. It’s not-”

“How did- How did you get it?” she asks, lips pressed together tightly. “A- A transfusion?”

Patrick closes his eye,  _again_ , because he can’t stand the way she’s looking at him. A single tear rolls down his cheek. “No, mom. Not through a transfusion.”

He hears a tiny gasp, and when he opens his eyes, he finds her with a hand over her mouth.

“Mrs. Kane,” Jonny suddenly speaks, placing his hand over Patrick’s where it’s trembling on his thigh. “I don’t know how much you know about HIV, but I can assure you that normal contact like this here, poses absolutely no risk of transmission. There is absolutely no reason to worry, and like Patrick said, he is handling it, he’s taking his medication, which further lowers the risk of transmission, and-”

“I’ve got to-” Patrick’s mother interrupts, shaking her head, her lips in a thin, barely there line. “I’m sorry, but I- I’ve got to go. I’m sorry, I- I’m sorry.”

“Mom-” Patrick says, tears rolling down both his cheeks now. “Mom, _please_.”

She doesn’t stop. She takes her bag from the table, and walks out with quick but shaky steps.

A moment later they hear the door fall shut.

Patrick lets out a helpless sob.

“I better go after her,” Patrick’s father says after a beat of silence, clearing his throat and standing up from the armchair he’d been sitting in. “I’m sorry, son.”

Patrick doesn’t even look at him, his vision too clouded by tears. He lets Jonny pull him against his chest and just cries, cries until the entire front of Jonny’s shirt is wet with snot and tears, and blood from Patrick’s lip. They’ll probably have to burn it or something, or wash with some industrial detergent but Patrick can’t think about that right now. The only thought in his head is that his mother has left him. She walked out on him, because he’s sick, because he’s gay and sick, because he has a faggot disease or whatever she dubs it in her head, so she left. She just-

“She’s my mom,” Patrick sobs, helplessly clawing at Jonny’s chest as Jonny strokes his back, with calm, soothing strokes. “She just- She- She’s supposed to- But she- Cause I’m-”

She’s supposed to take care of him when he’s sick, to love him always and to always be in his corner. She’s supposed to be a person he can trust, but she isn’t and deep down he knew that or he would have told her sooner, but fuck, it hurts to have it proven to him, that he’s worth less than her beliefs, that she wouldn’t even listen to his and Jonny’s explanations. That she’d just go, just leave him despite his pleas.

And his dad just followed along. Not saying anything at all, because apparently Patrick isn’t worth that either.

He knew this would happen if they ever found out but it still comes as such a shock, to actually have it happen, to have his mother just-

She left. She just left him for being sick. For being gay. For fucking up, and it feels like getting his face smashed into the ice all over again, just a thousand times worse, his heart being stabbed with every desperate beat. You are not supposed to get abandoned by your own mother, it’s not fair, it’s not right. It’s- Patrick is still, Patrick how can she not see that? How can she not even give him a chance to really explain?

“I know, baby,” Jonny murmurs gently, wrapping Patrick up tighter in his arms. “I know. It’s not fair.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “She’s the one who’s wrong. Not you, Pat. Not you. I love you, you are perfect. You gotta know that. No matter what she thinks.”

“But she’s my mom,” Patrick sobs. Intellectually things might be different, but on the simplest, most primal of levels the only thing that Patrick knows is that moms are supposed to love you unconditionally, and his doesn’t.

So there must be something wrong with him. But Jonny is disagreeing, Jonny is telling him the opposite, and Patrick is wired to trust Jonny, and through all of this, Jonny never left, he never shied away from Patrick, never not gave him a chance, or a hundred. Jonny has been there from the start, has loved Patrick before and still loves him now, and Patrick is so, so thankful, but at the same time it only makes him cry harder. His own mother can’t love him unconditionally, but Jonny can. Jonny does, and Patrick selfishly wants both.

“I know, Pat,” Jonny says with a sigh, holding Patrick a little tighter. “I know.”

 

***

 

“You know,” Patrick mumbles, speech slurred by painkillers, swelling, and exhaustion. “Maybe she just- Maybe she just doesn’t understand? ‘s a lot and she doesn’t- She doesn’t know stuff about this. I didn’t. So she might-” He sighs a little glancing up at Jonny who’s just getting settled into bed, after taking a little while longer in the bathroom. “She might come around, right?”

He bites his lip out of habit, wincing at the sting of pain it sends through him, looking at Jonny miserably, who’s gazing back at Patrick with unreadable eyes.

“She might, yeah,” Jonny answers after another few beats of silence, running a hand over his mouth. “I wouldn’t- Pat, I wouldn’t build on this ‘might’, though. She’s your mom and I know that you love her, but we just don’t know if she’s even willing to learn. She walked out on you, and I’d hate to see you go through that again.”

“She’s my mom,” Patrick argues, aware of how pitiful he sounds, especially for a thirty year old grown up. But she _is_ his mom and it hurts that she wouldn’t even listen. “And it’s a lot, it is, so maybe she just needs some time. When I first thought I had it I was scared of touching anyone, I was scared of touching myself, it’s- It makes sense that she-”

Patrick breaks off. The memory of his mom pulling back from him, wiping her hands after touching him, it’s just too painful. It feels worse than getting slammed face first into the ice.

“Patrick,” Jonny says with a sigh, expression pained. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, that’s all. I mean, you knew this was going to be a difficult topic with your mother and it still devastates you to have her react that way. I’m-”

“So what would you have me do then?” Patrick says, maybe a little snappy, as tears are starting to prickle in his eyes again. “Just- Just give up on her? Just accept that she hates me? That she’s disgusted by me? She’s my mom. How am I supposed to- I don’t- What do I fucking do?”

“I-” Jonny stares back at him helplessly. “I don’t know, Pat. I don’t have a magical solution for this, I just- Look-” He reaches for Patrick’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Here’s what we are going to do tomorrow. We’ll take all those files and the information I collected on the subject, and we’ll put together a portfolio of some sort, for your mom. Together. And then we’ll email it to her, and that’s it.” He gives Patrick a serious look. “That’s it, Pat. That’s your step, that’s all you can do. You give her the information, you give her the offer to talk, and that’s all. That’s as far as you put yourself out there to get the ball into her court. Then it’s up to her. Okay?”

“But-” Patrick starts, not really knowing what he’s arguing. Jonny is just being so calm and logically and protective, it’s driving Patrick a little nuts. His season just ended, he lost a tooth, he lost the ability to kiss his boyfriend and his mom left him, it’s- It’s a lot. It’s a lot for Patrick and maybe Jonny can tell by looking at Patrick’s face because he presses their foreheads together, like they did so much in the beginning of their relationship when kissing hadn’t been a thing yet, and he says:

“And then we’ll let the world exist without us.” He strokes Patrick’s cheeks softly. “We’ll have a good day. I’ll get you ice cream and we’ll watch Netflix and we’ll text your sisters if you want to, and then we’ll bake. You know the muffin recipe you wanted to try, the blueberry almond ones? We’ll make them, and you’ll help me talk through the game, and we’ll have a great fucking day, how does that sound?”

“Sounds good.” Patrick sniffs, covering Jonny’s hands where they are resting on either side of Patrick’s face with his own.

Jonny smiles, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s cheek before leaning their foreheads together again.

“And the day after that-”

“ ‘s your birthday,” Patrick says, his lips wobbling. He wanted to give Jonny a great birthday like Jonny had done for him, but now everything seems so screwed up and Patrick just- He doesn’t know. He’s an awful boyfriend probably.

“Yeah,” Jonny says, sounding not at all disappointed, because Jonny is a fucking angel and Patrick has no idea what he’s done to deserve this. “And it’ll be great. I’ll skype my parents, and we’ll eat the muffins we made the day before, and if you feel like it we’ll go out with the boys. Seabs made reservations at the steakhouse I like. And then-”

“I was going to blow you,” Patrick blurts out clumsily, causing Jonny to pull back in surprise, and Patrick himself flush the color of their jerseys. Fuck. “I mean, I was- I was thinking about it. That I might, but now-” He looks down at his lap, tongue darting out to lick over the crust on his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t-” Jonny starts, then seemingly stops to consider, like he wants to choose his words carefully. “I didn’t know you were thinking about that.”

Patrick scoffs, wiping his eyes a little. “I mean- Yeah. I don’t- It just happened. I don’t know. I don’t feel good with the idea every day, but sometimes, I- Sometimes I want to, you know?”

Jonny looks at him, Bambi eyes on full display, exhaling visibly as he rubs his neck.

“Yeah,” he eventually says, voice a little bit hoarse. “But you know that you don’t have to be sorry, right? You don’t have to ever do that, not for my birthday or ever, if you aren’t comfortable, even if your mouth isn’t all messed up.”

“No, I know,” Patrick says quickly, squeezing Jonny’s hand. “I know that. I just- I’m sorry because I would have liked to at least be able to if I was feeling good about it that day, and now I can’t, so that’s- That’s what I’m sorry about. For myself too.”

“Oh,” Jonny says, a small smile spreading on his lips, like he was actually worried that Patrick might think Jonny would be mad at him for not being able to perform the maybe blowjob he didn’t even know about until five minutes ago. “Okay. I guess it’s okay I feel sorry for that too then? On your behalf?”

Patrick snorts, giving Jonny a tiny shove. “Yeah, you doofus. It’s okay. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jonny says, pulling him into another hug. “And that’s not gonna change, eh? No matter what.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, swallowing a little as he buries his face in Jonny’s shoulder.

The world around them might be constantly changing, happening, hockey is being played, they win they lose, they get injured, Schmaltzy being cool, or Patrick’s mom, her finding out, her leaving, there’s so much, but Jonny loving him, that’s a constant. If the last seven months have proven anything, then it’s that. What Jonny went through with Patrick, what he held his hand through, it’s something extreme. Patrick may not be actively dying, and there had been no car crashes or whatever it always is in these movies, but it had been dramatic. HIV is something life-altering and it has altered Patrick’s life and through that all that, that change, Jonny has been with him.

He feels sort of cliché thinking about it like that, but it sort of reminds Patrick of the expression forged in fire. They started in a rough patch and still made it out to the other side alive. What could possibly come and shake them? Patrick can’t think of anything, although he doesn’t really want to try either, just like he doesn’t want to think about whether or not Jonny and him would have even gotten together if it hadn’t been for Patrick’s diagnosis making him more needy and open to take in Jonny’s affections that had always been there but Patrick had never really allowed to get to him.

No wonder Jonny has called him an idiot so much.

“I love you,” Patrick whispers again, later, when they’ve finally switched off the lights, far too ready for the day to end.

“ ‘s good,” Jonny mumbles, half into his pillow. “Cause I love you too. Like, a lot.”

“Yeah?” Patrick asks softly, settling into his pillow.

“Yeah.”

 

***

 

They do exactly what Jonny said they would do. They spend the morning creating a file for Patrick’s mother and once that is done, they busy themselves by doing all these nice things Jonny described. They cook and watch movies, Patrick takes his pain meds, cools his face and skypes his sisters who all show various degrees of outrage over their parents’ behavior. Erica offers to talk to their mother, and so does Jessica but in the end they all agree that Jonny’s and Patrick’s strategy with giving her time is probably the best idea. Jacquie doesn’t say much of anything, she mostly just looks angry and sad, and once the call is over Patrick gets a long text from her, telling him that she loves him and that he’ll always be her brother no matter what.

It makes Patrick cry a little, except that this time it’s from happiness. Maybe his mom doesn’t love him as unconditionally as he thinks a mom should, but at least his sisters are the most amazing people, giving him that love and support he’s missing from his parents.

He texts Jacquie back a hundred hearts and gets another hundred back in return, not just from Jacquie but all of them, and it’s enough to make Patrick smiles stupidly for almost an hour, despite his lips and mouth still hurting.

 

***

 

Jonny’s birthday goes by quickly. They do skype Jonny’s family and Patrick is pretty sure Andree has got them pegged but she doesn’t say anything and Patrick is glad for it because he couldn’t stand her being happy for them while she doesn’t know what kind of risk her son is in simply by being with Patrick.

Jonny claims that she wouldn’t mind, that she’d just feel sympathetic towards Patrick for him being sick, but Patrick isn’t ready to take that step yet, to take that risk, and Jonny accepts. They go out with the team in the evening, getting the most amazing steak. Or well, everyone but Patrick does, since he’s got his appointment tomorrow to get his teeth fixed and the idea of chewing on a thick piece of meat doesn’t seem very appealing to him before he’s got all his teeth back. He’d barely been able to munch the muffins they baked.

But going out to eat is a nice distraction. He enjoys seeing the boys and talking to them, especially since Schmaltzy and him actually strike up a conversation at some point while everyone else is busy discussing whether they’ll meet Winnipeg in the next round or San Jose and which they’d prefer. It’s a bit strange talking to someone who knows about Patrick, and isn’t his doctor or Jonny, but it’s also surprisingly nice, especially when Schmaltzy starts telling stories about his sister and it becomes clear how much he loves her and how much her diagnosis doesn’t matter most days of the year.

Patrick doesn’t tell Schmaltzy about his parents but he thinks he might be able to guess anyway, judging by the sad look he gives Patrick when Patrick mentions that his parents went back home, when Dylan asks if his mom is taking care of him now that he’s injured. Patrick just gives Schmaltzy a small shrug, pressing his thigh against Jonny’s under the table. It is what it is, he did what he could. He was honest with his parents, he gave them information, he’s giving them space, and time, and everything else is up to them. He just has to remind himself of that sometimes.

He gets his teeth fixed the day of the Hawks’ first second round game since 2015, against the Sharks, and it’s every bit as awful as other players have told Patrick. He chipped his tooth in the OHL once but he never had to have actual dental work done, and he absolutely hates it. He doesn’t know how Duncs and so many of the others do it all the time. If it happened again, Patrick thinks idly, lying on his couch with an ice pack pressed to his cheek, he’d really pull on Ovechkin and just rock the tooth gap. Jonny would just have to deal.

The Hawks lose the first game just like they had in the first round and Jonny’s mood is accordingly so they don’t do a whole lot when Jonny comes home, just cuddle on the couch and watch something mindless about silver mining in Argentina on TV. Patrick distantly misses kissing Jonny but with everything still hurting, the anesthesia still in his system and the risk of infection ever present in his mind, he doesn’t even dare kissing Jonny on the cheek. He just presses himself close and lets Jonny pet his hair and lean their foreheads together and it’s nice.

And Patrick knows it’d be okay if it stayed like this, not Patrick hurting, but not kissing. Jonny wouldn’t argue it, which he consistently emphasizes whenever Patrick brings up that he can’t kiss Jonny right now, and it gets to the point where Patrick is a little bit pissed off because it’d be kind of nice if Jonny at least somehow expressed missing kissing Patrick too. But apparently doing so unprompted goes against Jonny’s philosophy of never ever risking putting pressure on Patrick.

“I’m not made of glass, you know,” Patrick tells him, arms crossed as Jonny packs his bags for the trip to San Jose, while Patrick watches him, wearing sweatpants and one of Jonny’s Winnipeg hoodies.

“What?” Jonny asks distractedly, straightening with a frown, a spare charger in hand.

“Like-” Patrick licks his lips, looking at him. “Like, you can tell me shit, you know? I’m not gonna lose it if you say you miss sex or something.”

“But I don’t,” Jonny says, sounding mildly irritated.

Patrick scoffs. “C’mon Jonny. We fucked like rabbits when we first-” He makes a vague hand gesture. “-did things. You love sex just as much as I do. You must miss it.”

“I mean-” Jonny makes a frustrated noise, rubbing his forehead. “I do like sex, but I’m not- I don’t feel like we are missing something. We aren’t incomplete or something. We are good, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, of course,” Patrick says tugging at one of the strings in his hoodie, licking over his lip. “Just- Doesn’t anything ever bother you? You are allowed to be dissatisfied.”

“But I’m not,” Jonny argues, staring at Patrick. “What’s your problem? What do you want from me, Patrick? Is this- Is this about you? Are _you_ dissatisfied? Do _you_ miss sex?”

“ _Yes_ , I fucking miss sex,” Patrick retorts, closing his eyes as soon as the words are out. “Fuck,” he mumbles, blinking at Jonny. “I mean- I miss it just being a thing, not this big thing that I kinda want but am also scared of because it got me sick, and I just- You are really fucking hot Jonny, and I just- It’d be great if I wasn’t alone in this dilemma. That’s all.”

“So your problem is that I don’t have a problem with us not having sex?” Jonny asks, looking a little incredulous. “That’s- That’s what we are fighting about?”

Patrick presses his lips together, meeting Jonny’s glare head on. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Jonny says, exhaling loudly, unceremoniously dropping the charger into his suitcase. “I- I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want you to say sorry,” Patrick says, throwing up his hands. “I want you to say that you want me.”

“Why would you ever think I don’t want you?”

Now it’s Patrick who growls in frustration. “Because you don’t even seem bothered that we haven’t 

kissed  _in a week_ , Jonny.”

“But-”

“If this hadn’t happened-” Patrick gestures to his mouth. “Would you have even wanted me to suck your dick or-”

“Of course I would have wanted that, what the fuck, Patrick?” Jonny snaps, staring at Patrick with wild eyes. “Of course I want you, of course I’d want sex with you, of fucking course I would have liked you blowing me, and I do miss kissing you, but not in a way that means I’m unhappy because I can’t. It’d be nice, yes, it’d be really fuck great but I’m not –lacking something. I’m just not.”

“Then show me!” Patrick yells back, his healing lips stretching uncomfortably, but he barely even feels it. “Fucking show me that you want me.”

He doesn’t even know what exactly he’s asking for, why he’s getting so worked up right now and why his blood is thrumming with want, when he knows that he can’t even kiss Jonny, and that isn’t Jonny’s fault. Jonny is just being his sweet, forthcoming, usual self, but fuck, maybe Patrick doesn’t always want him to be sweet. He wants- He doesn’t know what he wants, except for Jonny to want him and not just say so when Patrick asks him to. It’s like fishing for compliments. It‘s a compliment and it might even be genuine but it doesn’t hold the same weight as it would if it came unprompted.

“Show you?” Jonny repeats, kicking his suitcase out of the way, staring at Patrick. “You want me to show you that I want you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick spits, the word tasting like a dare on his tongue. “You gonna?”

Jonny’s lip twitches, and a moment later he has closed the space between them, latching his lips onto Patrick’s neck, catching him more than a little off guard. Sure, he provoked Jonny, but it’s still-

“Oh.” He gets out, as a shiver of warmth floods through him at Jonny working his neck, nipping and licking, one of his hands, sneaking under Patrick’s sweater, brushing over his abs, causing him to flex subconsciously.

“Oh?” Jonny mumbles, against Patrick’s neck, and fuck, Patrick is pretty sure that’s going to leave a hickey. His dick twitches in his sweatpants and there’s no way Jonny didn’t feel that with how close he is and Patrick free balling it.

Patrick doesn’t answer, just gasps, parting his legs far enough for Jonny to slide his thigh between them, giving Patrick something to grind against. He’s got one hand in Jonny’s hair, keeping his head close, not wanting Jonny to stop despite his initial surprise and the wave of adrenaline surging through him.

“You think I don’t want you?” Jonny growls, grabbing Patrick’s ass through his sweatpants. “You really think that?”

“I-” Patrick gasps, clinging onto Jonny as he grinds against his knee.

It’s hard to not feel wanted, when your neck is being kissed like this, when Jonny makes him feel on fire with just a few simple touches, when his voice sounds lows and gravelly, going straight to Patrick’s cock. It’s not entirely hard yet, but it’s getting there fast, and judging by what Patrick feels in Jonny’s pants when he reaches between them with a shaky hand, Jonny is too. It’s been a long fucking time since Patrick has had direct contact with Jonny’s dick through something other than glances, and god has he missed it, has he missed this, the rush of anticipation, the feeling of having Jonny’s focus so entirely on him, eyes seeming even darker than usual.

“Prove me wrong?” he gets out, tugging at Jonny’s hair, trying to get his lips back onto his skin.

A crazy part of him just wants to say fuck it, and just kiss Jonny back, bite his lip, push his tongue in and take what he wants so badly, but-

Patrick whines in protest when Jonny suddenly pulls back, tugging on Patrick’s hand instead of kissing his neck, and touching him, which is definitely not okay, but Jonny is insistent so Patrick follows him to the bed, his heart skipping a beat when Jonny gestures for him to get on it.

He does, fully expecting to join him, but instead Jonny walks over to the closet, rummaging around like he’s looking for something, and Patrick can’t for the life of him think of anything that could be in there that would be of use to them now. Fuck, he doesn’t even know what they are doing. Jonny should be packing, should be getting ready for San Jose and Patrick should rest and maybe work out a bit and keep himself from checking his phone for missed calls from his mom, but all that suddenly seems so far away, because Jonny says he wants him, he touched Patrick, kissed him, even though Patrick can’t kiss back and-

“You think I don’t want to have sex with you?” Jonny says, finally walking over to the bed, holding something behind his back. He looks fucking hot like this, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, his hair a little bit messy from Patrick’s fingers and an obvious bulge in his pants. Patrick can’t believe he gets to have this again. “You think I wouldn’t have wanted you to blow me?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead he knee walks up the bed so he’s between Patrick’s legs, looking down on him. Then he pulls out what he had behind his back.

It’s a pack of condoms.

Oh.

“I got these after you told me you were thinking about it,” Jonny says, voice the tiniest bit scratchy. “So that if you were to decide to, once you were healed and you were  _sure_  you wanted this, we could. Safely. I didn’t tell you about them, because I didn’t want to pressure you, but I bought them.” He gestures to the box Patrick picked up a little warily, eyeing it. “They are for oral.”

Patrick blinks at the condoms, then at Jonny and back. It’s- He doesn’t know why this is such a surprise to him, or why he’s feeling all kinds of hot at Jonny taking precautions and watching out for them in the case that Patrick decides he wants to. It’s so- God, it’s so fucking Jonny and it’s so amazing, and Patrick loves this man so much, and yet he spent almost ten minutes yelling at him earlier, accusing him of not wanting Patrick, when he clearly does, in his own awfully selfless way.

“How are you even real, Jonathan Toews,” Patrick says, swallowing roughly, half a smile playing on his lips as he turns the condom box in his hands. He shifts a little, looking up at Jonny. “Too bad we can’t use these now.”

“But we can,” Jonny says slowly, taking them from Patrick’s hands, eyeing him carefully. “If you want to.”

“I do want to,” Patrick says, frowning at Jonny. “But my mouth-”

“Your dick is fine though,” Jonny cuts him off, cheeks even more flushed then before he placed the box besides them, his hands rubbing up and down Patrick’s thighs now, not going to high, but enough to make Patrick’s dick twitch a little with the possibility of it. “Isn’t it?”

“I mean-” Patrick hesitates, glancing down at his groin. “Yeah. But-”

“ _I_ could blow you,” Jonny suggests, looking at Patrick intensely, causing him to shiver with the heat and simultaneous vulnerability of it. “If you wanted that. If you were comfortable with it.”

Patrick stares at him, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. “Jonny,” he says, biting his lip. “The risk-”

“The risk is only marginally higher than if I was on the receiving end,” Jonny says because of course he knows that. They are both probably singlehandedly responsible for half the hits on the CDC’s HIV website. “And with condoms, and your viral load, and me not having any open wounds or sores in my mouth, there’s virtually no risk at all.”

Patrick looks at him, heart racing in his chest with something that isn’t arousal. This is not- It’s- He knows Jonny is right, intellectual but he still- He can’t do this, not like this. He just- He doesn’t know. He wanted Jonny to prove to him that he wants him, and honestly Patrick doesn’t know where he wanted this to go, but he knows he doesn’t want it like this, he doesn’t want Jonny to blow him, as much as he wants Jonny to blow him. Or he wants to in theory, but not in practice, not now.

“I-” He swallows, his throat feeling tight. “I’m sorry, but I don’t-”

“And that’s okay,” Jonny says softly, when Patrick breaks off, unable to say it, to reject Jonny this outright. He loves Jonny, and he wants him and it’s been a year since he’s had sex with another person, but he just can’t do it.

“Hey, Pat,” Jonny whispers, taking Patrick by the chin, gently making him meet his eyes. “It’s alright, yeah? You can say no now, you could have said no, when I was already on my knees, it doesn’t matter, you always get to say no, just like I always get to say no. You don’t even need a reason.” He presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek, lying down next to him, gently cradling Patrick’s jaw. “I won’t hold you not wanting to against you, I promise.”

“But I want to,” Patrick whispers, knocking his forehead against Jonny’s, exhaling shakily. “I want to, but I also- I also don’t. I’m so fucking messed up, I’m sorry.”

“Would you stop apologizing for this?” Jonny says back quietly, voice full of warmth. “I’d be the one who’s messed up if I was mad at you for this.”

“You aren’t messed up,” Patrick mumbles, tugging at the hem of Jonny’s shirt, just to give his fingers something to do. His cock has gone completely soft again, and so has Jonny’s. He sighs.

“Neither are you,” Jonny says honestly, pressing another kiss to Patrick’s cheek. This time so close to his mouth that he can almost imagine tasting him.

“You aren’t mad?” Patrick asks nevertheless, unable to help himself. “Maybe one day, but-”

“No, I’m not mad, Pat,” Jonny says, laughing softly, nuzzling Patrick’s neck before placing a kiss right over the hickey he made earlier. “I’m just happy to be here.”

 

 

***

 

It’s later that day when Jonny tells him about another thing he went out and got after Patrick’s blowjob revelation. He looks a bit sheepish about, like he’s not sure if Patrick is going to be mad, which makes the entire wait for him to finally spit it out so much worse.

“I’ve got a prescription for PrEP,” Jonny confesses, looking down at their joined hands. “And I’ve started taking it.”

“But-” Patrick stares at him. They haven’t really talked about this, about PrEP, because Patrick hasn’t considered sex for so long, so it hadn’t been on the table, but apparently it had stuck on Jonny’s mind and after Patrick had admitted to thinking about it, _wanting_ it, Jonny had gone out and gotten prepared, which- Patrick swallows. PrEP is not something he had known about before his own infection, but then again, he hadn’t known about a whole lot. It’s short for _pre exposure prophylaxis_ and it’s supposed to lower the risk of infection of someone who is at higher risk of infection due to for example, an HIV positive sexual partner.

“What about- About side effects?” Patrick asks, his cheeks flush. Jonny went out and did that, for him. He went to one of their doctors and asked them for it, and he’s been taking his stuff daily, just on the off chance that- “What if it messes with your hockey? Jonny, you-”

“It’s not. I’ve been taking it for a week now, which means it’s effective for all the stuff we could do, and I haven’t had any side effects,” Jonny says, glancing up at Patrick. “It’s just a precaution. It’s not supposed to pressure you, I just figured if you ever chose to try something with me, then you’d feel better if we didn’t just have condoms for protection, but-” He gives a small shrug. “Everything available, you know?”

“I-” Patrick clears his throat, squeezing Jonny’s hand tightly. He doesn’t know what to say. This is big, bigger even than the condoms, proving Jonny’s devotion and thoughtfulness, for the millionth time, and all Patrick can do is give him hesitant smile in return.

“Thank you, Jonny,” he whispers, knocking their foreheads together. Jonny just hums in response, like it’s not a big deal.

It is.

 

***

 

The Hawks win game 3 but lose game 4, putting them down 1-3, and making the next game, on home ice (thank god, for that at least), do or die. If they scrape up a win, they keep the series alive to fight another day, and Patrick will be allowed to join them again for game six, his mouth having healed exceptionally well. If they don’t, they are out, and while they made it further than any of the last years, they are also hungry for more, wanting to claw themselves just a little bit further. Round two is amazing, but it’s also just a taste of something more and they are competitive athletes, they’ve all spent their entire lives wanting more and fighting for it.

Jonny isn’t back yet from the airport (he called, telling Patrick he and Duncs were going to take the rookies out for lunch to cheer them up a little) and Patrick is just lounging around the condo, poking at the insides of his mouth with his tongue, trying to determine whether kissing Jonny hello would be safe or not. Or well, it would already be pretty safe, but safe in Patrick’s head. He’s also trying to figure out how to cheer Jonny up, once he comes home from his captainly duties, undoubtedly emotionally exhausted, because yeah, Jonny’s been there before, this isn’t his first rodeo, but that doesn’t mean losses don’t get to him.

If Patrick was able to kiss him, that might set things up for a good start. Also Patrick very selflessly just wants to kiss his boyfriend. So there is that.

He’s busy looking through the media center of some documentary network Jonny is subscribed to, trying to find something that might work well for a relaxing afternoon, when his laptop starts chiming with an incoming skype call.

Frowning, Patrick reaches for it, eyes widening in surprise and his heart skipping a beat at the white letters on screen announcing who the caller is.

“Hey mom,” Patrick says a little warily after agonizing a couple of seconds about whether or not he should pick up.

In the end, he did, because that had been the whole plan, giving her information and time, waiting for her to make the next step. This is the next step and what kind of son would Patrick be if he just not picked up, because he’s still feeling hurt about the way she had treated him that night after his injury.

And she’s his mom. Patrick could never not answer his mom.

“Hello, Patrick,” his mother says, a small smile on her lips. “I see you got your teeth fixed. Does it still hurt?”

“Barely, mom,” Patrick says, grinning widely to show off his teeth, his heart still beating to his throat.

Is this what this is going to be about? Just small talk? Not even acknowledging what has happened, what Patrick admitted to her and why she left. Patrick would be fine with it, but he also wouldn’t, because-

Because.

“Mom, did you read the information Jonny and I sent you?” he asks, because he can’t not bring it up, even if it makes his hands feel clam and sweaty.

He’s taking a page out of Jonny’s book, confrontation head on. Waiting around for shit hasn’t gotten him anything, and he just can’t stand the thought of making himself believe that she’s okay with him again and then the next time they meet in person she refuses to hug him or something. That’d kill him.

“Your email?” she says, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ve received it, yes.”

“Received?” Patrick repeats, blinking at her. “Mom, did you read it? I know you don’t know a lot about this disease, and that’s okay, neither did I, that’s why we send you the email, to help you understand. We-”

“ _We_?” she echoes him, pressing her lips together into a thin line. “I can’t- I can’t believe this, Patrick. He does this to you and you still talk about you and him? You let me hug him hello? That’s-”

“What are you talking about?” Patrick stares at her.

He lost her somewhere. He doesn’t get what she’s saying. He’d been talking about the info Jonny and him send to provide her with information and now she’s talking about what _he_ did to Patrick. He who? Jonny? Jonny hasn’t done anything to Patrick except be kind and loving and almost literally Patrick’s rock in the past seven and a half months, and if Patrick is being honest, even longer than that.

“Are you talking about Jonny?” Patrick asks, frowning at her. “Mom, Jonny hasn’t done anything to me, he’s my-”

“I know what he is to you,” his mother cuts him off sharply. “Jacqueline slipped the other day. Patrick, I-”

“So this is about me being gay?” Patrick asks, his voice already a tiny bit wobbly.

He knew that his mom wouldn’t be okay with that, even without the whole disease aspect Patrick dumped on her but he’d thought that in the grand scheme of things- He doesn’t know what he thought. He just hoped his mom would get over it, that she’d leave those old-timey Christian beliefs behind for him that she’d at least try, but maybe that had been stupid. The way she had looked at him after he told her he didn’t get the virus through a transfusion had been telling enough.

“This is about you being with the man who did this to you! Who made you sick! Who’s killing you!” his mother says shrilly, breaking off into a sob that she tries to suppress by covering her mouth with her hand.

Patrick just stares at her. “What?”

She thinks-

She thinks that Jonny-

“Mom, I didn’t get it from, Jonny,” he says, unable to keep his voice calm. “He didn’t infect me. I-”

“Don’t lie to me, Patrick, I’m your mother,” she says, like that means anything when she’s accusing Patrick’s boyfriend like this. “You were good. You were a good boy and then you start dating that- _Him_ and you suddenly have this disease. I know you’ve been dating for months. You were fine at Christmas and now- I’m not stupid, I know how this is transmitted. Through sex. Gay sex.”

“Mom, I already had it at Christmas,” Patrick argues, shaking his head, his hands balled into fists. “I already had it and I was already taking meds for it, and the only reason I was- _am_ fine is Jonny. Jonny took care of me, Jonny helped me, Jonny was there for me. He didn’t infect me. You want to know how I got it? I fucked a guy in Denmark without using a condom because I’m an idiot. He didn’t know he had it, I didn’t know to be careful. Jonny had nothing to do with it.”

“Patrick Timothy do not speak to me this way,” his mother snaps, wiping her eyes with her hands. “I don’t want to know--”

“You don’t want to know?” Patrick half yells, his lips trembling. “Why not? Do you just- Do you just want to accuse Jonny for the sake of it? So you have someone to blame that isn’t me? That’s bullshit, mom. Jonny isn’t-”

“He’s gay,” his mother snaps, causing Patrick to flinch at the hateful way she speaks the last word. Like it’s the single worst offence in this whole scenario. “And he’s with you. If he didn’t have AIDS, why would he risk being with you? I’m not stupid, Patrick.”

Patrick stares at her, stunned. He doesn’t- He doesn’t know what to say, how to- Where to even start. It’s clear that she didn’t read a single word of the information Patrick and Jonny sent her. It’s clear that she didn’t want to. She’ got this idea in her head, and now she’s-

“Yes, you are,” Patrick manages to say, after he’s found his voice again. He clears his throat, wiping away a tear with his sleeve. “You are, mom, because, Jonny is with me because he loves me, and I love him and he doesn’t care that he’s negative and I’m positive because there are- There are ways to be careful. And we are. We don’t take any risks, we-”

“I don’t want to hear about what you _do_ with him,” she interrupts him, and the disgust in her eyes cuts like a knife.

“Oh, you don’t?” Patrick says bitterly, not bothering to wipe away the tears that are falling freely now. “Too bad, I was just about to tell you, how to have really great HIV risk free sex. You know there’s this great thing called condoms, and PrEP, and-”

The screen of his laptop goes black, and a moment later the call end noise rings through Jonny’s living room.

Patrick closes his eyes in shame, after pushing his laptop shut. He shouldn’t have talked to her that way. He should have tried to be calm and informative and just- He shouldn’t have, but he had been so hurt and so angry, and she didn’t even read the information he collected for her. She didn’t even bother with that and had just jumped to conclusions, about Patrick and about Jonny, and it’s just not right.

Patrick shouldn’t have talked to her that way, but she shouldn’t have talked to him the way she did either. Patrick had at least tried, he’d been- He’d tried being mature about this, but now he’s curled up on a couch again (Jonny’s this time instead of his own), crying over his mom and her awful opinions about him and his life. It’s pathetic but at the same time, it feels so fucking justified, so Patrick just cries. He cries until his eyes are dry and then he gets up, goes to drink two tall glasses of water, washes his face, and heads down to the gym in Jonny’s building, getting in a good work out that leaves his mind blissfully empty before Jonny comes home a few hours later.

“Hey,” Jonny says, wrapping his arms around Patrick from behind, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “How are you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Patrick asks, turning around in the embrace to place a hesitant kiss on the corner of Jonny’s mouth that has his eyes light up like it’s Christmas come early.

“No,” Jonny says, gently cupping Patrick’s face. “You already know the answer, losing sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Patrick agrees. He can’t help but feel like the talk with his mom had been a loss in itself, for both sides. He sighs, glancing up at Jonny. “My mom called.”

“Oh?” Jonny asks carefully, looking at Patrick’s face searchingly.

Patrick gives a tiny shrug. “It wasn’t good.”

Jonny, giving him a sad smile, knocks their foreheads together, before wrapping Patrick up in the tightest embrace, he immediately melts into.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “I really am.”

“Yeah,” Patrick mumbles into Jonny’s chest, holding Jonny back just as tightly. “Yeah me too.”

 

***

 

Something changes after that, and Patrick can’t quite put his finger on why. He feels strangely lighter after a few days, after the Hawks make it to game 6 and he gets to gear up with them again, after having had a couple of days of talking things through with Jonny and his sisters, but not his mom.

He can’t change what she thinks, or how she feels about him now that she knows that he’s gay, HIV positive, and in an in going relationship with the man she believes to be at fault for Patrick’s… missteps. He can’t do anything about that, because he already did everything he could. He gave her time, information, answered her skype call, tried to explain. He did what he could and it hadn’t been enough and somehow there’s peace he finds in that because there’s nothing more for him to do. Everything else that happens is out of his control. It just is, so it’s easier, and better for his mind to focus on the things he _can_ do.

And that is giving his all on the ice and in this relationship with Jonny. He goes on the ice for game 6, his mind grimly set on victory and with the help of the team, he actually gets them there. He scores twice in the second, and sets Brinksy up in the third, and it’s a fight. It’s a bone crushing, heart wrenching fight but in the end they get there, they win themselves a game 7, evening out the chances at proceeding into round 3, where Nashville will be waiting for them

And by some miracle, they win that too, game 7. Patrick almost can’t believe it when his teammates jump on the ice, hugging each other, and yelling like they just made the finals, not just the third round. It’s incredible and unreal, and Patrick still can’t really believe it when he falls into bed with Jonny late that night after partying it up (but going easy on the alcohol) with the boys as much as his tired, thirty year old body could stand.

The next morning, when they are back home, lounging on the couch together while eating apple slices Jonny prepared for them, Patrick realizes that in two weeks it’ll have been pretty much a year on the dot since he got infected, and fuck, so much has changed since then. He got sick, yes, and he kind of lost his mom, but he’s coping with a serious illness, he’s being responsible about it, and he’s got a boyfriend who he loves, and he’s playing playoff hockey again, doing what he dreamed about in the beginning of the season, proving all those wrong who said they didn’t have it anymore.

A year ago he’d been lonely, and sad, seeking temporary comfort in sex with a stranger, today he’s lying on a couch with his boyfriend’s arms around him. Never in a million years would he have seen this coming.

He glances up at Jonny, whose eyes are focused on the TV screen, where game tape of Nashville’s last game is playing on mute, because what the fuck would they want with the commentary anyway.

His brows are slightly furrowed, eyes as intense as ever. If it was Patrick, he’d be chewing on his lips, but that’s not Jonny. He just stares. Still, Patrick’s eyes flicker to Jonny’s lips, how smooth they look now that Patrick has gotten him that bee wax chap stick that he’s actually grown to.

He’s beautiful like this, Patrick notes quietly. Focused, unaware of the world around him, apart from the way his thumb is brushing over Patrick’s shoulder. It’s one of his favorite Jonnys. Then again he has a lot of those. He loves it when Jonny is being dorky, when he tries to be funny but fails, when he’s so kind and sweet, it almost kills Patrick, when he’s grinning from ear to ear, and when he’s so concentrated on something that he needs Patrick to pull him out of it so he doesn’t forget to eat.

Patrick thinks about it for a moment, about grabbing one of the apple slices and poking Jonny in the cheek with it, make him blink in irritation and swat at Patrick, but laugh a moment later when he steals the slice form Patrick, calling it punishment, as if that hadn’t been Patrick’s plan from the start.

But he doesn’t. It’s been building all day, this other feeling, and now, for some inexplicable reason, as he’s watching Jonny like this, instead of reviewing the game tape like he’s supposed to, Patrick is ready to act on it. He wants to. So he squeezes Jonny’s arm once, silently excusing himself.

He doesn’t go to the bathroom though like Jonny might believe. He makes a beeline for Jonny’s bedroom that is probably just as much Patrick’s by now, judging from the number of clothes he has there, and goes straight for the drawer of his nightstand, where they had put the box of condoms after it had laid around accusingly out in the open for a few days.

Patrick fishes just one out of the box, holding it in his hand and staring at it for a couple of seconds, waiting for the panic to set in. It never comes, he just feels content and sure, and maybe a little bit nervous because he hasn’t done this in forever and this is Jonny, he wants it to be good.

He puts it in his pocket then, and after a second, he adds another one, before strolling back into the living room with a small smile on his lips. Jonny looks up when Patrick steps up behind him, his smile widening. He feels almost giddy, it’s a tiny bit ridiculous.

“Hey,” he says causing Jonny to smile back, looking mildly bemused.

“Hey?” he says, tilting his head. “What’s up?”

“I thought maybe we could finish that later,” Patrick says, nodding to the TV, the condom packet crackling in his hand, as he plays with it in his pocket. “Do something else, you know?” He shrugs.

Jonny squints at him. “Like what?”

Patrick licks his lips, stepping around the couch. Jonny ‘s eyes follow him, eyebrows drawing together more and more with each step that Patrick takes without answering Jonny’s question. He is though, Jonny just doesn’t get it yet.

“Like this,” Patrick says, reaching for a pillow and sinking to his knees in front of Jonny. He bites his lip, looking up at Jonny’s wide eyes, hesitantly placing one hand on Jonny’s left knee, while the other fishes the condom out of his pocket, placing it on the couch between Jonny’s spread legs, right in front of his crotch. “What do you say?”

“I-” Jonny starts, looking a little like he’s going to pop either an aneurysm or a boner any second, cheeks flushed bright red, and eyes wide but mouth hanging a little bit open. “Are you- Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Jonny,” Patrick says, giving Jonny a smile, because fuck, he is. By some miracle he is.

A week ago he’d still been unsure, wanting but not wanting, always flip flopping back and forth, but now he’s sure, no doubt about it. They are being careful, as careful as they could ever be. Patrick is on HAART, his viral load is undetectable, Jonny is on PrEP, and they are using a condom. They are probably being safer than 70% of the other players in the league when they fuck around.

“Are you?” he asks, rubbing his hands over Jonny’s thighs, up and down, going a little higher each time. He can see Jonny’s dick twitch in his shorts.

“Am I what?” Jonny asks, voice a little hoarse, as he cups himself through the thin fabric, giving himself a good squeeze that makes Patrick shudder, his own cock taking interest in the whole situation.

“Are _you_ sure?” Patrick asks, because this whole time they only ever really talked about Patrick not being ready and Jonny had always said that he wanted to if Patrick wanted to, but it still feels right to ask, to make sure, that both of them are completely on board with this. Jonny has been respectfulness in persona over the last couple of months, and Patrick would do the same for him any day. Jonny just has to say the word.

Jonny doesn’t. Jonny grabs Patrick by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up and crashing their lips together in a way that has Patrick gasp in surprise, but grab Jonny by the hair a moment later, kissing back just as fiercely as he climbs into Jonny’s lap, straddling him.

“Yeah, Pat,” Jonny groans as Patrick kisses down his throat, scraping his teeth over the willingly bared skin, as Jonny slips his hands under Patrick’s shirt. “Fuck, yeah. I’m sure. I’m so fucking sure.”

“Yeah?” Patrick half laughs as his cock further fattens up in his sweats, at Jonny’s enthusiastic affirmation. Patrick love shim so fucking much it’s ridiculous. “Good.”

They can’t go straight to Patrick blowing Jonny yet, because while ten years ago, they might have with Patrick always having liked feeling Jonny getting hard in his mouth, now that isn’t an option. Putting a condom on a not yet fully erect penis, it’s just- It’s not great. They have to get Jonny hard first, which doesn’t seem much of a problem, judging from the way Patrick can feel him harden against his ass, where he’s grinding down while Jonny licks at his nipples, shirt, pushed up underneath his armpits. They’ll have to get a condom on Patrick’s dick too, Patrick distantly knows, just to be safe, because he’s already leaking a bit of precome in his sweats, but that’s why he brought the second condom, and he just- He wants to get his mouth onto Jonny so badly, it’s not even funny.

Jonny seems to think so though, judging by the way he laughs when Patrick growls into his ear, about how he better get to full hardness in a second because Patrick can’t stand to wait any longer.

“Can’t wait, huh?” Jonny says with a grin, cheeks as red as he’s been double shifting.

“Don’t front,” Patrick scoffs, reaching between them to feel Jonny’s cock, hard and leaking where he’s pulled his short down to sit under his balls. “Like you didn’t used to be a slut for my dick in your ass.”

“Still am, baby,” Jonny says, catching Patrick for another open mouthed, hungry kiss. “But right now I just want your mouth. Can I have it? Please?”

“Only because you said please,” Patrick says, his heart hammering against his ribs with excitement, as he slides back to the ground, fishing the condom out from between the cushions where it had slipped. “Hold you dick for me?”

Jonny does, so Patrick, once he’s gotten the condom packet open, rolls it over Jonny’s hard cock, causing Jonny to let out a barely suppressed groan, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. It’s momentarily distracting, how hot Jonny is like this, leaned back, cock out, pleasure written all over his face, making Patrick cup himself through his sweats to relieve some of the pressure that’s been building there. He needs friction, he needs touch, but first and foremost, he needs Jonny’s dick in his mouth so without much preamble, he closes his lips around the tip, while holding into the base and sucks Jonny down as far as it’ll go on the first try.

It’s an unfamiliar taste. Patrick has never blown anyone with a condom on, and for a split second it’s disconcerting, because even after so many years, he remembers Jonny’s taste, and no, it’s missing, it’s not there. But it’s only a moment, because then Jonny moans, his hand finding Patrick’s curls and then it’s right, it’s just right, despite the condom. This is Jonny, his Jonny, the guy he’s loved since forever, who loves him back and has been there for him like no one else has. It’s Jonny, and that’s the one thing that counts, not the latex separating them.

“Fuck, Pat,” Jonny groans, his cock twitching in Patrick’s mouth as Patrick swirls his tongue around the tip before pulling back, tugging Jonny’s foreskin back over the head before going back in, pushing it back with his lips, causing Jonny to buck his hips, thighs trembling.

“I’m not gonna-” Jonny grits out and it makes Patrick grin internally how much strength it seems to take Jonny to formulate actual words, as he takes Jonny as deep as he can, nose almost touching Jonny’s pubes. “Not gonna last long.”

“That’s okay,” Patrick says, voice rough as he pulls off for air for a moment, licking his lips as he looks up at Jonny through his lashes.

God, he has missed this. He knew exactly what this move would do to Jonny, but seeing it paly out is so much better. He groans, again, this low, barely there noise in the back of his throat, as he throws his head back, abdominal muscles twitching. It’s so hot and for a second Patrick is tempted to just get his dick out and jerk it while he’s blowing Jonny, but he wants to give Jonny his full attention, because that’s what Jonny deserves. That and the world.

“Shit,” Jonny curses when Patrick goes back in, sucking Jonny deep into his mouth, using his tongue as he uses his hand to cradle his balls, squeeze them the slightest bit and-

Yup. It still works. Jonny has crazy sensitive balls and that hasn’t change. He tenses almost immediately, the way that Patrick remembers signals his orgasm. The condom keeps Patrick from feeling it hit the back of his throat, but he still feels the way Jonny’s dick pulses in his mouth twitching with the last few spurts, and-

“Jesus, Pat,” Jonny mumbles, arm thrown over his eyes, when Patrick lets his flaccid dick pop out of his mouth, grinning up at Jonny, his lips spit slick. “That was-”

“Good?” Patrick suggests, gently peeling of the condom from Jonny who winces a little, then ties it up, carefully placing it on piece of kitchen roll they’ve got lying on the couch table for reasons Patrick can’t quite recall right now. He’s so fucking hard right now, he’s pretty sure he’ll come the second Jonny touches him with is just as well, with how wiped out Jonny looks.

“Yeah, that’s one word for it,” Jonny says, blindly reaching out for Patrick, tugging at the shoulder of Patrick’s shirt. “C’mon, get up, here, I want to-”

“Want to what?” Patrick asks, following Jonny’s request and climbing on the couch next to him, where Jonny immediately engages him in a sloppy but heartfelt kiss that leaves Patrick even harder, his lips tingling.

“Want to get you off,” Jonny says, a lazy grin on his face. “Got a second condom, or should I-”

“Got it right here,” Patrick says, fumbling it out of his pocket. “Gimme a sec, I’ll just-” He pulls down his shorts, groaning as he finally, fucking finally gets his hand on his dick. He’s ready to explode, the tip already a reddish, purple, and he can see the want in Jonny’s eyes as he looks at it, making Patrick feel even hotter.

“C’mon, Pat,” Jonny urges, licking a wet stripe up Patrick’s throat, as if that’d help Patrick concentrate any better a she tries, fumbling the condom out of its packet and onto his dick. He manages eventually but Jonny, the asshole, is definitely no help at all.

Then he wraps his hand around Patrick’s cock, and Patrick immediately forgives him. For this, for everything, because god, it feels so good. Patrick doesn’t remember a simple hand job ever feeling this good. His entire body is on fire, every last cell tingling with arousal as Jonny strokes him, squeezes him with just the right amount of strength like he hasn’t forgotten anything, lie they are still barely nineteen, young and excited, the world up for the taking. Except that it’s so much better, because now Patrick can say I love you, so he does.

He says it again and again, as Jonny jerks him, and he says it once more when he comes and then when Jonny kisses him, and again later that night when they curl up in bed together, and the next morning, when he wakes up in bed next to him, the sun filtering in through the blinds.

He says it because it’s true, because he can, because he wants to, and because Jonny, without fail, always says it back.

 

 ***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [https://www.cdc.gov/hiv/basics/index.html](https://www.cdc.gov/hiv/basics/index.html<br%20/>)   
>  [https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1046/j.1525-1497.1997.012004243.x](https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1046/j.1525-1497.1997.012004243.x<br%20/>)   
>  <http://articles.chicagotribune.com/1997-10-26/sports/9710260008_1_hiv-positive-hiv-or-aids-virus-that-causes-aids>

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed this. Please leave a comment :)


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